


Unsteady

by im_not_the_queen



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Baz is the Original Angst Lord, Eating Disorders, Friends to Lovers, Human Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, I lifted a lot of quotes from the book, I love Agatha, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining Simon, Suicide Attempt, Tags Are Hard, The Watford Tragedy Never Happened, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch Is Gay for Simon Snow, but I'm too lazy to cite all of them, but not when I wrote this, kids please just communicate, pining Baz, this is how R&J d i e d
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:47:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26178994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/im_not_the_queen/pseuds/im_not_the_queen
Summary: The Watford Tragedy never happened, but Simon Snow doesn't know how much better he's got it. All he knows is that his prickly best friend/roommate Baz is still trying to steal his (ex) girlfriend, Agatha, refusing to eat properly, and now Simon has to find his biological mothers... husband? Baby-daddy? Who knows, honestly. Simon just wants to figure out why his heart jumps into his throat every time he sees Baz, who the mysterious Davy really is, and maybe stop the Humdrum along the way.Written in like 2016? (Pre-Wayward Son)
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 5
Kudos: 52





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote this long before Wayward Son came out (like, 2016 long) and never posted it because the writers in the Carry On fandom are hugely talented and I was intimidated. Anyways, hope you enjoy this! Please let me know if you have any thoughts or if I fucked up the formatting or something on this work (I hate formatting on here).

SIMON

Getting to school on the first day is always a bit of a nightmare, as we usually have to go back about six times to get something somebody had forgotten. Usually me. Or Penny. (Penny never actually forgets anything, she just doesn’t have enough room in her trunk for all of her books) (she makes us go back to get them one by one until she has them all, and carries them into school with  **_Up, Up and Away_ ** ) I always forget something important, like shoes, or my toothbrush. When we finally arrive, I’m in the gates and headed straight for the Great Hall for tea before anybody else has gotten out of the car. 

“Aren’t you going to say goodbye to your family?” Mitali calls after me. The Bunces are my family, I suppose, but I never really feel like I fit in with them. (sort of like being a stray mutt in a family of pure bred border collies) (I’m too clumsy, too politically neutral, and too… explosive.) (The Bunces have magic that works like a precision instrument, my magic goes off like a nuclear missile) 

“Sorry.” I run back and give her a hug. I’m grateful, of course, for them to have taken me in. They accepted me into their pack like one of their own, even with all my un-Bunceness. 

“All right, mum, we’re leaving now.” Penny tells her mother as she fusses over her younger brother, and I wave as I follow her in to tea. “Look, Simon. There is Agatha.” Penny announces as we enter the room. Golden hair like a waterfall, big, doll-like eyes and pink lips: I present to you, Agatha Wellbelove, my girlfriend. However, I’m not very happy to see her. It may have had something to do with her holding hands with a classmate named Niall at the end of last year, and hardly speaking to me when she came to visit in the summer. I’m not jealous, though. (Maybe a little bit) I’m not worried he’ll woo her away after all the time I’d spent pining after her before finally asking her out in fifth year, because Niall was a prat (ok, I was worried, but only after Penny pointed out that he was actually quite good-looking). 

“Do you see Baz anywhere?” I ask Penny, sitting down and buttering a scone. 

“Aren’t you going to say hello to Agatha?”

“She was just over two weeks ago. Have you seen Baz yet?”

“Simon, didn’t you just text him?” Penny sighs. “No. I haven’t seen Baz- for Crowleys sake, Simon, stop craning your neck all around like that!” 

I sit back in my seat. Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch (Baz) was the son of our headmistress, a powerful mage in three or more languages, a devastatingly handsome yet stuck-up prat, and also, my extremely irritating roommate. Also, (not counting Penny) Baz was probably my best friend. At Watford, you had the same roommate every year, which is wonderful, if you get along, and horrible if you don’t. It’s something of a ceremony. I remember it very well. Headmistress Pitch brought out the crucible and placed it in the fire. At first, nothing happened, but then, there was a feeling like a fishhook had been attached behind my belly-button, and I was being dragged across the grounds. You have to shake hands when you find your roommate, to ‘seal the deal’ so to speak, but Baz held off on that part for a ridiculously long time. Everyone else was practically running across the lawn to find their roommate, but Baz walked at a leisurely pace, the firelight flickering over his blue-grey eyes. He’d stopped in front of me, pushed his black hair out of his face and said:

“I’m Basilton Pitch,” he didn’t hold out his hand.

“Simon Snow,” I said, offering mine. “Here.” I waved it desperately, “Shake.”

Baz sneered, “I know who you are. Everyone’s talking about you, Snow. You’re the one whose parents gave them up. The so-called ‘Greatest Mage’. ”

I winced, and shook my hand more vigorously. He took it, finally, barely shaking it before letting go as if burned. 

“Don’t expect me to feel sorry for you.” But he stayed with me, making sure I was settled, helping me find my classes. Baz became my friend. He was honest with me, and didn’t pretend to like me more than he did because I was the ‘Chosen One’. He was a jerk, sometimes, and he didn’t know how to apologize, but he did know how to interpret all of my stumbling sentences, and after seven years of living together, he knew more about me than anyone else on earth. I’d trust him with my life (but not my chocolate). 

BAZ

I’m only ten minutes late for tea, but it seems as if everyone has arrived by the time I get there. I use Open Sesame on the doors (a bit dramatic, but if I’m late, I may as well take advantage of it) Eyes upon eyes fall on me as I walk to my seat. I fall into my chair beside Snow, briefly letting my hand rest on his shoulder to assure him that we’re still friends (he has a stupid fear that one day I’ll come back after the summer and not want to be friends with him anymore). I sigh hello to Penny, and lean back on my chair, waiting for her to pour my tea (she always does). 

Agatha Wellbelove is sitting (surprisingly) across the room, white blonde hair shining, eyes sparkling. My mother would tell me to sit with her, to flirt with her, to make her mine. She’s everything I’m supposed to want, and we’d look good together. She’d be the white to my gold, shiny and perfect. I should go sit with her, she’s only ever been nice to me, but Simon and Penny are already dragging me into conversation about my summer holidays, and (most importantly) I don’t  _ want _ to sit with Agatha Wellbelove. Not only do I find her insipid and annoying, but I’m also unfailingly jealous of her because of the one thing she has that I will never be allowed: Simon Snow. 

I never thought I could fall for the idiot that was my roommate, someone that should be my enemy (I could never hate him) ( I do hate him, though. I hate how the redness in his round cheeks makes my stomach curl -not unpleasantly, though- how bright those utterly ordinary blue eyes are, how much I want to weave my fingers through his hair).

The only reason he was allowed at Watford was because of the ridiculous amount of power he seemed to possess. But somehow, my teenage self refused (refuses.) to realize that he’s all wrong for me- and that I’m all wrong for him.

I figured out just how in love with him I was one night when we figured out how to magick my laptop to have access to Netflix (long story) and we were sitting at the foot of my bed watching some show (Sherlock, I think). Snow leaned his head onto my shoulder and fell asleep, and I sat there, watching his chest rise and fall, breathing in the smell of smoke that follows him everywhere, and wondering how I’d never noticed how gorgeous he was before. I’ve been fucked ever since. 

*****

Agatha is eyeing me from across the room, and instead of following Snow and Penny out of the hall, she stays at her seat, staring. They don’t wait for me, they’ve learned that I prefer to finish (throw away) my meals alone. I should scarf down a few bites, chuck the rest and follow them, but instead, I make my way over to Agatha. “Trouble in paradise?” I ask, smirking. 

“If you can call it paradise.” She sighs.

“Huh. Definitely trouble then.” Agatha looks suspicious, so I turn on the charm, “Agatha, if you ever need to talk, you know, I’m a very good listener.”

“You hate me.” Agatha furrows her brow, and I lean closer, just enough to provoke a blush on her pale cheeks. 

“I’ve never hated you.” I lie. She’s irritating. 

“Oh.” Agatha breathes. I back off, giving her some space, and let the smirk fall.

“Seriously, though, I’ll be your neutral party.” And I leave her standing there, out of breath and blushing. I’m only a little bit disgusted with myself. 

  
  


SIMON

Baz bursts into our room with a smirk on his face (I wonder who’s life is ruined. That’s the only possible reason for the smirk.)

“Trouble in paradise?” He asks, light from the window glancing off his high cheekbones. Oh. Me. My life is ruined. (I still can’t seem to get worked up about the fact that Agatha and I are surely going to break up…). This is the other side of Baz. The cruel side, the side that appears when he’s hurting, or hungry. (I wonder how much he ate at tea. I should be more diligent in checking). 

“What are you talking about?” I demand, trying to not get distracted by the way his green-blue eyes are sparkling with something like amusement. 

“I spoke to Agatha downstairs.” He says.. 

“We- she- we haven’t-“

“I know you haven’t talked about it, Snow.” 

“I don’t want to talk about it now!”

Baz just bares his teeth in that half sneer I hate so much. 

Baz has his trunk unpacked all ready, clothes folded neatly and put in his dresser, coat 

hung in the closet, toiletries neatly stacked in the bathroom. Baz organizes his belongings like he lives the rest of his life: precise, perfect, no room for error. He snatches a book from his shelf and collapses on his bed. The bathroom already smells like cedar and bergamot.

Baz and I do fight, quite often, actually. Not as much lately as when we were younger, and for that I’m glad. I hate when Baz is mad at me. In second year, Baz and I got in a full on fist fight. I don’t remember what the reason was, but before his fist collided with my temple, my senses were overwhelmed with a wash of cedar and bergamot. 

Baz snorts at something he’s read in his book, and I jump. I take a moment to study Baz, languidly stretched across his bed, proud face set in an amused half-smile (He looks like a renaissance painting, or maybe a statue). Then I leave, making my way down the stairs and into the library. I sit in the corner, curled on an armchair, wondering what I’m going to do about Agatha. 

*****

I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting here before the first phantom appears. A young girl across the room shrieks “Nana!” before running across the room to a floating apparition of a woman in a gardening smock. My wand is in my hand before I’m even on my feet. 

“Simon. Put that away.” Penny’s disapproving voice says from behind me. (When did she get here?) For the second time today, I jump out of my skin. 

“When did you get here?”

“About half an hour ago. You didn’t notice?” Penny shakes her head. “And come on, Simon, that’s a Visitor. Mum talked about this all summer.”

“A Visitor?”

“Every twenty years or so, the Veil lifts, and the dead can talk to the living if they have something that they really need to say.”

“Oh…”

“Sometimes, people will come back to reveal who killed them, or some sort of secret treasure- twenty years ago my aunt came back to tell my mum about something she’d left behind, books I think.” I sigh. It’s always books with the Bunces. 

“Can we go down to the kitchen? I’m hungry.”

“You’re always hungry.” Penny frowns. “And you’ll eat plenty at the picnic, why can’t you wait?”

“I wonder if there’ll be scones at the picnic tonight.” Penny rolls her eyes. It’s a legitimate concern, though, since scones are number five (maybe higher now, I haven’t revised my list since I was twelve) on the list of top ten things I have to live for. 

*****

The picnic has already started by the time Penny and I get down to the lawn. She keeps bugging me to find Agatha, but I don’t want to talk to Agatha right now. The littluns are eating cake and playing football, some of them have never been to Watford. Some of them have years ahead of them here. I keep thinking about how this is it, my last picnic, my last first day. I wonder where Baz is, and why he hasn’t found us yet. I wonder how much I’ll have to glare at him to make him eat tonight. 

At least I know the Humdrum won’t attack tonight; he never tries the same thing twice, and he’s already sent flying monkeys to the picnic once. I make a pig of myself at the buffet table (there aren’t any scones, but there are other things, cranberry sauce, raspberry cordial, roast chicken, pork pie.) and then Penny and I get a blanket and set it up on the hill. I make up a plate for Baz and wait for him to make an appearance. I can see the light on in our room; he’s probably reading.

“I’m going to go talk to Agatha.” Penny says stoutly, pointing across the lawn to where Agatha is sitting with some other girls from our year. 

“Fine.”

“Aren’t you coming?”

“No,” I say, “I’ll stay here.” She shrugs, glares disapprovingly, and marches away. I sit still for about five minutes, and then glance back at the tower. Our light is off. I look around for Baz, but see nobody; most everyone has gone up the hill to watch the fireworks. 

“You made me a plate.” 

I jump about a foot in the air, and turn to see Baz looking at me with something like appreciation. He sits beside me, tentatively taking a bite out of his potatoes. I watch him slowly eat two thirds of his plate, and stare him down as he sets in on the grass and sprawls on his back, collar bones stark under his skin. I lay down, too, just close enough to feel the warmth radiating off him, and close my eyes. 

BAZ

Two weeks into classes, seven visitings, eleven minor spats with Snow, all ending in him scowling and me smirking triumphantly. We try to forget them, but this is the most we’ve fought since fifth year. Two ‘going-off’s (once in class, once at breakfast, both my fault.) Thirty-eight homework assignments (I aced them, Simon struggled, sighed and languished until Penny or I helped him.) Three lovely little chats with Agatha (all small talk) and one face off with my mother about not smoking on the grounds. I’ve been counting everything, lately: how many times Simon glares at me during meals (average: forty-seven) and how many time I restrain the urge to pin him against the wall of our room and snog him senseless (more than I’d like to admit). Also, I’ve counted the total amount of hours I’ve slept over the past two weeks. My insomnia is always worse during the school year, and I can’t smoke in the room without Simon waking up. My mother hates it when I sneak out to smoke in the courtyard or the catacombs. I have to walk to the wood, and by the time I walk back, the night air wakes me up all over again. So most nights, I lie on my bed and do nothing. I nothing harder than any other nothing-er I’ve met. I pride myself on the amount and intensity of the nothing I am able to do. I lie on my side or my back, stare into space, and I don’t think, I don’t move, sometimes, I forget to breath. I prefer to nothing outdoors, lying on my back on the grass, or high up in a tree. The only thing that interrupts my ability to nothing is Simon Snow. Thinking about him, watching him. I’ve started categorizing thinking about Snow as doing nothing, because, really, it’s impossible not to think about him. I also categorize smoking under the ‘nothing’ section, because I usually just let the fag hang between my lips until it goes out. Not moving, not thinking. It’s nearly one in the morning, and I’m lying on my back in the woods, staring at the stars, a cigarette between my lips, hair pulled back in a loose bun, tie off, collar unbuttoned (Basilton Grimm-Pitch: unhinged and messy); it’s a hard-core nothing session. I’m not even thinking about Snow. I’m not even thinking. A branch creaks, and leaves rustle, and I sit up, shaking myself out of my stupor to look around. There is a figure in a long white dress standing about six yards away from me, white-blond hair loose about her face. Agatha.

“Come to join me?” I ask, blowing smoke at her. 

“Baz?” She jumps, looks around and sees me sitting on the ground.

“The one and only.” I reply, taking another drag of the cigarette. “What are you doing out so late?”

“I could ask you the same question.” She points out, sitting down beside me. 

“Nothing.”

“What?” 

“I’m doing absolutely nothing. It’s a great talent of mine, you know.” I tell her. 

She laughs, looking at me with a mixture of confusion and amazement. “I never took you for the nothing type.” She says, reaching for the cigarette. 

“I never took you for the smoking, up-at-one-in-the-morning type.” 

“I’m not.” She says, frowning. “I’m just… confused. I couldn’t sleep.

“What’s confusing you?” I ask her, smiling as she takes a drag on the cigarette and chokes. “Slow down.” I instruct. “Less violently.” She tries again, manages not to cough, and passes the fag back to me. 

“Everything.” She says. “Love.” 

I quirk an eyebrow at her.

“Have you ever been in love, Baz?”

“That’s an odd question.” I say, staring up at the moon. “I suppose I have, yes.”

“I haven’t. Or at least, I don’t think I have.” Agatha admits. “I don’t know if I can, really. I remember when I was little, we had a dog. We had to put it down, and I was upset, of course, but not really terribly upset, you know? I cried, but only because I knew I was supposed to.” 

“When you cry for Simon, is it because you’re genuinely thankful he’s alive, or because you know you should be.” 

Agatha turns a scandalized stare on me “Of course I’m happy he’s alive!” 

“But you don’t love him.” 

“I don’t think I can. And I don’t think he really loves me, you know? I feel like I’m just the prize at the end of the fight. The thing he wins if he beats all the bosses.”

“He thinks you’re his future.” I tell her.

“I don’t want to be his future, I want to be his right now.” She sighs. “I just- I can’t keep crying when he doesn’t come back, laughing when he does- I can’t keep waiting for him to come back to me!” 

“So why are you with him?”

“I guess I’m attracted to the idea of him? I love him, just.. not… enough. Not the way he wants me to.”

“So you’re just sexually attracted to him, or what?” She blushes, and snatches the cigarette. It’s going to go out in a minute, so I pull out another and light it with my wand. 

“No. Not at all. I don’t know.” She sighs, “It’s all so confusing.” 

“I think that’s ok.” I tell her, truthfully. “You don’t have to know what you want yet.” I flop back on the grass, letting the stars fill my eyes and overflow (sensory overload; too many to count.). “Did you know there are more stars in the galaxy then grains of sand on earth?”

“Crowley, you’re cliché at one in the morning, Baz.” Agatha laughs, and flops down beside me. “And not nearly so cynical.” 

“It’s exhausting to hate everything all the time.” I admit. 

“There are more atoms in a grain of sand then stars in the galaxy.” She says. 

“That’s too many.”

“I think it’s beautiful.”

“I don’t know if it’s true.”

“I hope it is.”

“I bet it isn’t.”

“Ah, there you are, Mr. Cynicism.”

“You’ve interrupted my nothing session.” 

“You let me.”

“I suppose.”

We lay in silence for a few minutes, me doing nothing, Agatha thinking, brows furrowed. 

“Baz?”

“Yes?”

“Who were you in love with?”

“Why do you care?”

“Curiosity?” She says it like a question.

“Do you want it to be you?” I ask her. It’s a challenge, of sorts.

“I don’t know. Yes. Maybe. No. I’m not sure-“

“Agatha.” I sit up, and turn to face her, blowing a smoke ring into the night. “I’m gay.” 

“Oh.” She looks confused, taken-aback, and then, she smiles. “That’s wonderful.”

“What do you mean?” I raise an eyebrow.

“I mean, I don’t mind.” She’s positively grinning now. “And I won’t tell anyone.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” I lay back on the ground, and she does, too. We finish the cigarette, and I help her to stand up, walking her back to her dorm. 

“Goodnight, Basil. Sorry I disturbed your nothing.”

“It’s not a problem, just don’t make it a habit.” I smile at her, but only with half my mouth, just enough so she knows I don’t mind, but not enough to drop my armour. “Goodnight, Agatha. Get some sleep.” I really should start taking my own advice. 

*****

A week passes, and Agatha becomes my constant companion. I don’t think Simon even notices; he’s too busy pulling his wand out at every visiting and going off over homework. Agatha joins me every few nights in the woods, and I tend to get more sleep those nights; I suppose talking tires me out. It’s one of the nights she doesn’t come, though, that Simon gets a visiting. It’s three in the morning, and I’ve just crept into our room. I shut the door soundlessly behind me, and walk straight into something warm and solid. Simon? 

“Snow?” I whisper.

“Where were you?”

“Smoking in the woods.” I don’t bother to lie. 

“With Agatha?”

“Not tonight.” I smirk, even though he can’t see me in the dark. “She was too tired from last night.” Let him make what he wants of that. 

“What are you doing with her?” He demands, flicking on the light-switch. (I don’t know why we even have one, but I suppose it’s a good thing. If Simon tried to turn on the lights with magic, he’d probably light up the whole school, and the nearby town.) I blink a few times, eyes adjusting. 

“Talking.” 

He glares. “You’re lying.”

“You’re an idiot, Snow.” I tell him, affectionately, and it’s the truth. He is an idiot, if he can’t see how madly I’m in love with him.

SIMON

“You’re an idiot, Snow.” 

I glare, turning away, ignoring him and his ebony black hair and red gold skin. That’s when the phantom appears. At first, it’s just a shimmer, a slight discolouration of the light and the walls around us. The air chills.

“My rosebud boy.” 

“Who are you?” The phantom- visitor- whatever, has softly curling, long blonde hair, big, starry blue eyes and flushed cheeks. I don’t know how I can tell, seeing as how she doesn’t really have any colour, but she looks somehow familiar. She’s not as solid looking as the other visitors, and she fades in and out like a television with bad reception. 

“Find him, Simon, my Simon, my rosebud boy. He said we were stars.”

“Who said?”

“Davy, my visionary, your father. I haven’t got much time, Simon.”

“Mum?” My voice quavers and breaks, and she smiles, leaning forward, putting a frigid hand on my cheek, cool lips on my forehead. 

  
  


BAZ

I Snow has collapsed to his knees in front of me, head in hands. It must have been a bit of shock- I always thought his parents were Normals- to find out one of his parents is still alive. Davy. Who was Davy? Why didn’t he try to find his son? Did he even know Simon existed? Why didn’t his mother leave a last name? I sit down beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder, resisting the urge to wrap my arms around him. 

“Snow.”

“Fuck off, Baz.” 

“Snow, I want to help.” He glares at me, and I stare straight into his eyes (bad idea, they’re so… distracting). “Listen, don’t be mad about Agatha- I’m not trying to steal your girlfriend, I promise.” 

“I just… had no idea.” 

“I know.” I forget about not hugging him, and pull him towards me, letting him burry his head in my chest. 

“How can we possibly hope to find him with so little to go on?” He’s gone from angry to despairing in the space of time it’s taken me to process the whole thing; Simon Snow has a family!

“Have you forgotten that my mother is on the Coven?” I think there might be a David on the Coven, actually, but he doesn’t seem the sort to go by Davy. He hates my mother, hates the Old families, hates how the World of Mages is run. I doubt he’d give up a child, he’d want to raise it to be just like him; dangerous, deranged, and with serious trust issues. 

“You think we can find him.”

“Yes.” I hold him close and try not to get too distracted by his golden curls and his slightly shaking shoulders. “We’ll start looking tomorrow.” 


	2. Chapter 2

SIMON

Penny and I are sitting outside at lunch. I keep yawning, because I hardly slept last night. Baz and I stayed up until five last night. We talked about the visitings and who Davy could possibly be. Baz said he must be bat-shit crazy to give up a son as powerful as me, even though I am a humongous prat. (I think that last part was just to make me laugh, although we have been fighting quite a bit lately ). He’s on the football pitch right now, (Pitch on the pitch) playing around with some of the other boys on the team. I used to watch all of their games, mostly to cheer Baz (Penny insisted that friends cheer each-other on. She still goes to most of the games) but also because I love football.

“Simon, come for dinner tonight, we’re going to that ramen place you like-“

“I have to stay here. I have research to do.” It’s not a lie. I don’t know why I haven’t told Penny about my mum yet, maybe it’s because I feel like she might be hurt if she knew that I didn’t feel like the Bunces were my family. Baz seems to get it, he says he sometimes feels that way about his fathers family; like he doesn’t belong. 

“You should really talk to Agatha.” Penny says as Agatha herself crosses the lawn, hair up in a flowing ponytail. She makes her way across the grass holding two sandwiches, and stands at the edge of the football pitch. She waves at someone, and they come jogging over. It’s Baz. His hair is coming loose and strands of it are falling around his face in black waves, and Agatha laughs as she pushes it back from his eyes. He smirks at her and takes the sandwich she offers him. 

“I don’t want to talk to Agatha.” I snap as she laughs and undoes her hair. It blows around her face, a sheet of golden white light. She hands Baz her hair tie, and he pulls his own hair back from his face and ties it in a stubby ponytail. (Baz is the only guy I know who can pull this off. On anyone else it just looks naff.) He finishes his sandwich and wraps an arm around Agatha’s shoulders. I stand up, magic and anger pouring off of me; Penny grabs my wrist.

“ **_Reel it in, Simon Snow_ ** .” The spell shocks through me, leaving me cool, my mouth tasting like sage. I take a deep breath and march away, turning the scene over in my mind and wondering what the hell is wrong with me: because for I moment there, I wasn’t jealous that Baz was stealing Agatha, I was angry that Agatha was stealing Baz.

BAZ

Agatha Wellbelove is my new favourite person. She brought me lunch, and gave me her hair tie ... It’s the first time we’ve talked in daylight, without the haze of smoke between us. I’m thinking about this, and how odd it is while I’m waiting for Simon to get back from the library. I have scones and tea pilfered from the kitchen (Simon can’t think unless he’s eating). He bursts in the door just as I’m about to go off looking for him. He’s carrying an armful of old newspapers and records. I’ve got my laptop open before he’s even halfway in the room. 

“What’s that?” He points to the tray.

“Scones and tea. I know you can’t function unless you’re stuffing your face.” 

“Thanks.” 

“No problem. Where’s Penny?” I know Penny can get into our dorm (she’s been hanging around with us in here for years), and I assumed we’d have her help, as well. She’s like an encyclopaedia herself. 

“What?” I roll my eyes,

“You know, your sister, Penelope Bunce.” 

“I haven’t told her.” Simon looks a little guilty, but spoils it by taking a massive bite of scone. 

“Crowley, Snow, how are we supposed to get anything done? Bring her next time.” I order. “Now, what do we know?” 

I open a document on my computer, and start a T table chart. The mattress shifts as I’m typing and I look up to see Snow sinking onto the bed beside me. My face flushes, and my pulse rises. He shoves me over to make more room on the bed. Crowley this was a bad idea.

“We just have a name. Davy.”

“Three names, actually. Dave, David, Davy. His first name could be any of those. And we also have your name, Snow.” I point out, and Simon stares at me. I resist the urge to brush his hair out of his face. The sunlight is splashing across his face, highlighting the moles I’ve wanted to kiss since I was twelve, turning his eyes into the Mediterranean ocean. We look for any mention of Davy through all the Covens open records, but the only things we come up with are some Daves that are too young, some Davids that are too old, and three that might be him: David from the coven (praying it’s not him), a man who lives up in Northern Canada (also praying it’s not him) and one other man who is somehow related to Ebb the Goatherd. Snow decides to go talk to Ebb about him, so I am left alone, pondering how the hell I’m going to keep from snogging Simon Snow senseless while researching. 

SIMON

I forget how much I miss Ebb until I actually get to see her. She’s sitting alone with the goats, mopping her eyes with a grotty old handkerchief. 

“Hiya, Ebb!”

“Simon! You haven’t been to see me yet!” She looks at me, playfully accusing. Her hair is all knotted, and her jumper needs a wash, but she looks like the same old Ebb, and that’s good. 

“I’m sorry, Ebb, but I’m here now, right?” I offer, sitting next to her. “How are you?”

“Ack, you know.” Ebb sniffs. “Thinking about you kids. You and Baz, and Penny and Agatha. Graduating this year, aren’t you?”

“Yeah…”

“Feel weird?”

“I guess… I’m going to miss it.”

“I’m going to miss you lot. Who’s going to make me Earl Grey tea when I’m feeling sad? Or hang out with me and th’ goats?”

“Who makes you tea?” I ask. I don’t, surely, and I don’t think Agatha and Penny visit without me.

“Baz, of course. You think you’d know that, best friends and all…” Ebb says, staring off along the green fields. “Good kid, Baz. He’s awful sad, you know.”

“Hmm.” I’m confused, Baz doesn’t seem sad, just hungry, and angry. “Actually, I came to ask about your cousin, David.” Ebb looks confused. 

“Why would you want to know about David?”

“Cause I read something about him in the paper and I just wondered what kind of guy he was.” I tell her the prepared lie that Baz and I came up with. 

“Very quiet. Doesn’t really like people, absolutely, one-hundred-percent a hermit.”

“No kids, no wife? No girlfriends?”

“Never. Mainly because he’s gay…” My heart sinks and my face falls. Ebb squints at me. “Are you sure everything’s all right?”

“Yeah. Listen, Ebb, I’ve just remembered I have some Elocution homework that’s due tomorrow- I’ll catch up with you later.” Ebb grins, and pulls me into a hug. 

“Of course, Simon. It’s nice to see you getting a normal school year, no sign of the Humdrum-“ Of course, just as she finishes saying that, the screaming starts. I see the dragon before I see the fires. It’s red, large, leathery wings, long, whipping tail, and fire rimmed jaws. Most of the bushes on the lawn are burning, and Penny is desperately trying to get the younger children inside. Headmistress Pitch is running across the lawn, her son in front of her, wand out. I rush to his side, wand drawn, ready to shoot a wicked spell at the dragon. The Headmistress is gathering the students still running on the lawn, rushing them inside. 

“Put that away!” Baz orders, as if he knows what I’m about to do. “Don’t hurt her, that’s a nesting mother by the looks of it. She doesn’t want to be here any more than we want her here.”

“How-“ 

“ **_Make a WISH_ ** !” Baz bellows, and the majority of the fires go out. It’s a waste of magic, he should have started on the dragon first. “ **_Ladybird, ladybird, fly away home, your house is on fire, and your children are gone_ ** .” There’s no way he’ll be able to make that spell work on a fucking dragon. But then he keeps going, like he can cast the whole rhyme, like he won’t keel over from the effort. The dragon lands in front of him, only a few inches away. Baz holds out his other hand, right under it’s nostrils,like you would if you were going to pet a horse. “ **_Ladybird ladybird fly away home, your house is on fire, and your children shall burn. All except one, and her name is Nan, and she hid under the porridge pan_ ** .” The dragon blows smoke onto Baz’s hand, but he keeps it still, doesn’t flinch. Touch enhances spells (not all, but some) but he’d be insane to actually touch the dragon. The students are standing, gobsmacked, around the doorways, even Headmistress Pitch looks shocked. “ **_Ladybird, ladybird, fly away home, your house is on fire, your children shall burn_ ** .” Baz rests the tips of his fingers on the dragons snout, and it huffs, sending fire down his arm. He doesn’t even move. I open my mouth to stop him, to help him- to do something! But he shoots me a glare, sweat dripping down his face, jaw clenched, and keeps fucking casting. “ **_All but one, and that’s little John, and he lies under the grindle stone_ ** .” I wonder why no-one is helping him- why aren’t I helping him? But I look around, and everyone has been herded into the building by Penny. The Headmistress is looking on, still frozen in shock. Baz flattens his hand on the dragons snout, and she breaths more fire up his arm and across his chest. He flinches, but doesn’t move. It’s the most impressive thing I’ve ever seen. “ **_Ladybird, ladybird, fly away home, your house is on fire and your children shall burn_ ** .” Baz is actually resting his weight on the dragon, now, voice tired, eyes half closed. The dragon looks over her shoulder, as if she wants to leave. Baz’s whole body is shaking, arm dragging down, voice rasping. The Headmistress moves as if to go to him, but the dragon turns her head and sprays a white hot column of fire at her. Baz’s voice catches and he lets out a little cry as the heat washes over him. I slowly raise my arm, placing a hand on his shoulder to steady him. And then I do something I’ve never tried before- never would try with someone I was afraid of hurting. I bring my magic to the surface, and push it, let it trickle into Baz. He straightens up suddenly, voice breaking and strengthening mid-sentence. He’s still shaking, and there are blisters appearing on his hands, but he finishes the spell, miraculously, and the dragon lurches, flying away. Applause rings out from the castle, and Headmistress Pitch rushes across the grass to her son. He sways on his feet, and collapses backwards into my arms. He’s heavy, but not that heavy. 

“Oh, Crowley, Basil, Basil, are you alright?” His mother rushes over, takes one look at him, and says: “Hospital wing.” I realize she expects me to carry him (I don’t mind, he just saved our lives- the dragons, at least- and he’s not that heavy, it’s just funny that she trusts me with him. She’s never liked me much) so I loop one of his arms around my neck. He struggles, mumbling something along the lines of 

“Mum I’m fine- geroff, Snow- mum- Snow, stop…” I wrap my arm vice-like around his waist and half drag, half carry him to the hospital wing. He gives up trying to walk on his own about three steps later, letting his head rest on my shoulder, hair spilling over his face and my collar. I deposit him on a cot when we arrive, and the Headmistress heals the burns on his arms and chest. It’s strange, but even after eight years of living together, I’ve never seen him without a shirt on. His skin is just as flawless there as it is on his face- or at least, it was. Now there is a large burn scar across the left side of his ribcage, tendrils of fire spreading across his abs and back. I can’t help but feel like it’s my fault. He’s allowed to go back to our room after his mother is done with him, but he needs my help getting up the stairs. When he’s finally sitting on his bed in our room, he asks me about David. I hang my head, to tired not to let my disappointment show.

“No luck. He’s-“

“No former girlfriends? No mention of possible kids?”

“Baz, he’s gay. And a recluse.” Baz almost looks like he wants to laugh, but then he gets a look at my face. 

“Oh. Sorry.” He frowns, and I notice the dark circles under his eyes. “Thank you, for earlier.” 

“That’s all right.” His eyes are like sea glass.

BAZ

Simon looks like his puppy just died. (He’s a dog person, but also allergic to fur.) I hope we find his father soon. But right now, I’m too tired to think. I feel burnt out, and full of Snow’s magic. We have to try that again, I suppose, to see if it was a fluke or not. But right now, sleep. 

*****

Penny comes up to our room the next evening. I still feel worn out, and my voice is nearly gone from classes today. I still brought up sandwiches, apples, scones (of course) and tea from the kitchens. 

“So.” Penny says after we’ve finished explaining. “Not only do we have to try and find Simons dad, but we also have to figure out the dead spots.”

“What?”

“Three more opened yesterday.” Penny reveals. 

“It has to be related to when he sends attacks after Snow- why is it always Snow he attacks?”

“Most powerful mage…” Simon waves his arm in the air. “Now can we talk about my dad?”

“No, first, Simon, you have to try again.” Penny orders, holding out her arm.

“What?” I’m confused, and so is Snow.

“You know, how you lent- gave- fed- whatever- Basil your magic yesterday.”

“Penny I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“Imagine what we could do though, Si, your power and my spells! We could finish the Humdrum off by tea tomorrow.”

“Imagine what the World of Mages will do when they find out they have a nuclear power outlet right here at Watford.” I say, although I’m not eager to find out. The Old Families will either kill him right away, or use him to fix their problems (creating more problems for everyone else.), then kill him.

“Was it a special spell?”

“Penny, it could really damage you!” She’s made her mind up though, I can see it, and Simon can see it too.

“We’ll never know if we don’t try.” Simon looks at me, I shrug. Penny squeezes Simons hand, and then-

“Fuck a twelve toed troll! Stevie Nicks and Gracie Slick! Fuck! She leaps off the bed and shakes her hand around. I stand as well, snatching her wrist in my hand and examining the red, mottled looking skin.

“Fuck, Penny, I’m so sorry!” Simon jumps up, too, looking guilty and worried. “ I’m sorry!”

“Nurse?” I ask her.

“It’s passing, I think.” She says. “It felt like an electric shock! Did it hurt when he gave it to you, Basil?”

“No, I don’t know. I was a bit focused on the dragon.” I sneer. “Maybe he was just giving me moral support.” I flip her hand over and examine her palm. It’s worse there.

“And you’re the most gifted mage in five generations.” She rolls her eyes.

“Probably.” I agree. “Get well soon.” The redness leaves her hand a little bit. 

“How’d that feel, Penny?” Simon asks.

“Hot.” Penny replies, and I quirk an eyebrow at her. “Not like that you perv. Temperature wise! Your magic feels like a grease burn, Basil.” I never knew that. I don’t often cast spells on people.

“Can we talk about my dad now?” Simon says, looking nervous.

“Do you know if your parents were married?” Penny asks, “My dad has a lot of minutes from magickal marriages.” 

“I don’t know…” Snow shrugs. Half of Snows sentences are shrugs.

“Why’s he got the minutes of marriages?” I wonder. I rarely talk to Penny without Simon around, and we never talk about our families.

“He likes that stuff. He and my mother are bound in five dimensions.” 

“That’s lovely.” I say, sincerely, because it is. Snow rolls his eyes, but manages to put our focus back on the issue at hand. 

“Can we get back to-“

Penny starts talking before Simon can get the sentence out, asking questions, discussing possible causes of the Humdrum, possible explanations for Simons father abandoning him. Penny and I debate, Simon writes (messily) on the chalkboard Penny  _ ‘Up, Up, and Away’ _ ed into our room. We get nowhere with the Humdrum, but we’re going to meet David from the coven –or Simon is- over the Christmas hols. When Penny finally leaves, I’m completely worn out, slumped on the floor by my bed.

“Baz.” Simon hisses at me from his own bed.

“What?” 

“Are you going to bed?” I groan, and drag myself to my feet, tripping on the rug and stubbing my foot before collapsing into my pillows. I let out a snigger at my own clumsiness, hear Simon giggling from his side of the room, and then I’m asleep.

SIMON

“Simon?” I’m walking back to our room after a long day of classes. I turn around, searching for the voice. It’s Agatha, cheeks flushed, hair plaited- this is just how she was when I first met her, first wanted her. (Is it strange that I feel nothing now? Should I still want her?) 

“Hi Agatha.” It’s the first time we’ve talked, and it’s the first week of December. (I didn’t miss her?)

“Um, about Christmas… I don’t think you should come this year.” I’ve spent Christmas with Agatha since fourth year. The Bunces don’t like having me around at Christmas, I don’t think. Penny usually goes to stay with Micah, or comes with me to Agatha’s. The other siblings like to stay with friends, too, because Mitali and Penny’s dad (I’ve never been very close with him. None of his own children are, either.) like to go away by themselves. Baz and I are school-year only friends, which is strange, but that’s just how it is. I don’t know where I’ll go this year.

“Why?” I sound whiny, childish. 

“Because, well, it would just be awkward.” Agatha says helplessly. 

“Fine.” It comes out harsher than I meant it to. “I understand.” I say, trying to soften my words, but she’s already headed in the other direction. 

*****

“Snow, what happened to you?” Baz asks as I slump into our room. 

“Nothing.” I don’t want his pity right now.

“Listen, Snow, Penny’s right, we have to try again.” I glare at him. I know exactly what he’s talking about, but I’m not interested in trying anything right now.

“No.”

“Snow, don’t be a child.” Baz snaps, walking over and sitting on my bed. 

“I’m not-“ I am though. Bloody Baz, always so perfect all the time. He makes me feel like I’m acting like a child even when I’m not. I reach and grab his hands, (they’re calloused and hot; firemaker hands.) Then I push, simple, just let the magic flow out of me like a current. Baz’s spine straightens, and his eyes widen. 

“Try casting.” I insist, suddenly curious.

“ **_We could steal time..._ ** ” Baz says, and we float through the ceiling, far up above the clouds, and we can see everything. Everything is utterly still. There are people, walking down the street, caught mid-step. An old man at a bus stop, frozen mid-snore. Baz looks over my shoulder and laughs. I turn to see, and there is a small dog, frozen just before catching a Frisbee. I don’t know how far we’re looking, but I think I see the Eiffel Tower. 

“This is impossible!” I say.

“I know!”

“Did you just- freeze time?” I gasp, and Baz grins at me wildly.

“I think so?” 

“Is that even a spell?”

“No!”

“Fuck. Put it back!” I laugh, giddy, feeling clean, like a river that’s been damned up for too long, and now the damn has burst. 

“ **_Just for one day_ ** .” Baz recites, and the whole world lets out a collective sigh, and begins to turn again.

“Try something else.” I say, not ready to let go of this feeling yet. It’s so clean, like a current in a muddy pool. 

“ **_I have loved the stars too fondly_ ** .” Baz says. Nothing happens. 

Then, after a moment, the stars begin to appear. We sink slowly down into our room, but the ceiling is still covered in constellations. We’re holding hands, but I’ve stopped consciously pushing magic into Baz, now I’m just letting him take what he wants. Finally, the stars fade away, and we’re left looking up at a blank ceiling. A blank slate. Baz lets go of my hands, and I resist the urge to snatch them back- when did I start wanting to hold hands with Basilton Grimm-Pitch? Baz laughs, collapsing back on my bed, eyes wild, hair mussed. 

“Fuck, Snow. I feel drunk”

“You look drunk.” 

“That was incredible.”

“Um…” I stare at him, he’s very nearly grinning. “How do you know that song?”

“How does anyone not know that song?” He retorts. “It was in one of the greatest films of all time, and it was well known before that.”

“You’ve seen Moulin Rouge?” Penny made me watch it with her once. It’s the only film that’s ever made me cry.

“Baz Luhrmann is a genius.” Baz says, as if that settles it. “It’s a brilliant movie. It’s my sister’s favourite.”

“I thought your sister was only seven.”

“She’s ‘utterly mature’. Her words, not mine. Anyhow, she bullied me into letting her watch it.” Baz laughs. “Quite a feat, really, bullying me.” 

“You’re so full of yourself.” I tell him, but I don’t really mean it in a nasty way. 

“Stay with me this Christmas. We can interrogate my mother about the Humdrum.” Baz looks at me with something like happiness behind his eyes. (That’s utterly terrifying. Happy Baz… I miss him being like this)

“We’ll talk about it more when you’re not half asleep and delusional.” (I was pretty proud of myself for that word.) 

*****

I decide not to go home with Baz for Christmas. Some of the teachers are staying at Watford, along with some other students who’s parents have gone away for the holidays.

I’ll stay here. By myself. It does suck, but there’s nothing to be done. It would be too weird to spend Christmas with Basilton Grimm-Pitch. Like I said, I don’t think his mum likes me much (although Baz says she’s just tired and aloof) and we aren’t holiday friends. Anyways. The holidays started two days ago, and I’m in the library, searching through old yearbooks for anyone named Davy. I find photos of Ebb, and Baz’s aunt, Fiona. There’s a boy that looks like Ebb, too, but I don’t recognize him. It takes me nearly five hours of searching before I find someone I recognize; it’s Penny’s mum, sitting under a tree with her arm around a woman with bright blue eyes and curly blonde hair- 

“Shit.” It’s my mother. Lucy Salisbury. Lucy Salisbury. My mother has a name! She has a photo in the yearbook, she has her head tucked into the shoulder of the boy beside her and is holding hands with Penny’s mum. David Hall. Davy. I found my dad. I have to find Baz. I have to tell him- no, I have to find Penny- But Baz will know where to find him (my father!). I don’t want to ruin Penny’s Christmas. I guess I might be ruining Baz’s Christmas… Oh well.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe I wrote my own favourite line out of this story when I've lifted so many other lines from the actual book what

SIMON

I end up walking three miles in to Baz’s house. The cabby wouldn’t go anywhere near it. (said it was haunted.) I have my wand, but I don’t want to try to magic myself there because I’m worried that I’ll crash land in the middle of his bathroom while he’s in the shower or something equally as mortifying. I’m exhausted and muddy by the time I arrive at the door. Baz’s little sister (she looks like a mini, chubby version of his mother), opens the door, takes one look at me, and says,

“Did you roll through Hampshire?” It’s so typically Baz, I start laughing.

“No, um, can I talk to Baz?”

“No.” She says simply. “Not until you tell me who you are.”

“Simon Snow, Baz’s friend.” I tell her, and she squints. 

“Huh.” She smiles. “I’m Mordelia. I’m seven, and I’m utterly mature. You can come in, I’ll get Baz. But stay on the mat!” She shrieks at me, and I plant my boots firmly in the middle on the mat. Mordelia skips away into the house and I stand on the mat uncomfortably, suddenly aware of just how muddy and disheveled I am. When Baz comes back to the door, I hear his footsteps in the hall before I see him (the floor is high polished hardwood. This house looks like a gothic castle.) I’m expecting the usual Baz look when he rounds the corner; slicked back hair, suit, tie, proud, haughty expression. 

“What are you doing here?” Baz demands, looking at me worriedly as he turns into my line of sight. He’s carrying a dark varnished violin, different than the one he uses at school, cleaner. And-

“B-Baz!”

“What?”

“You- you’re wearing jeans!” I always imagined suits and –I don’t know- silk scarves or something. (the jeans do look expensive though, dark, creaseless, and snug from his waist to his ankles without being tight.) 

“And you’re wearing all the dirt on the drive.” He replies. “What did you do, roll through Hampshire?” I laugh a little, ignoring the quirked eyebrow he offers as a request for an explanation.

“Walked from the main road. The cabby wouldn’t come any closer.” Baz rolls his eyes, pushing his dark hair out of his face. (it’s loose. It’s loose, silky, wavy. Of course it looks perfect like this, too, how typically Baz. Git.) “Said the house was haunted.”

“It is haunted.” Baz confirms. “Now explain what you’re doing here.”

So I do. 

BAZ

I’m in the drawing room when Simon shows up at the front door. My sister answers it, and comes to get me herself. She doesn’t knock, just slams the door open. I ignore her. 

“Basil.” I barely hear her over my violin. “Your roommate is at the front door.”

“What?” I snap, lowering the violin. “Why?” But I’m already hurrying down the hall to find out what the bloody fuck Snow is doing here (and also if he’s staying for the rest of the hols.) I round the corner to see Snow standing in his Watford uniform, covered in mud. 

“What are you doing here?” I ask. His jaw drops, and he stutters 

“B-Baz!”

“What?”

“You-you’re wearing jeans!”

“And you’re wearing all the dirt on the drive.” I reply, sneering. “What did you do, roll through Hampshire?” He laughs, and I raise an eyebrow, waiting for an explanation; I’d expected something to be really wrong if he’s here. Something to take the unfailing smile off his face.

“Walked from the main road. The cabby wouldn’t come any closer.” I roll my eyes, Normals always hate this house. “Said the house was haunted.”

“It is haunted.” I tell him. “Now explain what you’re doing here.”

“I found my dad.” I stare at him. 

“Come in.” I order abruptly, thinking about tea and scones for the story. Simon needs a cuppa, I can tell. “But take your shoes off, they’re filthy.” 

*****

Vera brings dinner up to my room, because we’re still talking, planning (plotting, Simon said. I don’t know why, but it made him giggle like a ten-year-old.) when my parents and sister start eating. I show Simon to the guest room, and he’s setting up the bed while I have a shower. I turn the water off just in time to hear him knocking on my door. I wrap a towel around my waist and answer it. Simon is standing on the other side, gawking.

“You’ve already seen the scar, Snow. What are you staring at?” I snap. 

“Huh?” Snow is awfully articulate sometimes.

“Elegantly put, Snow.” He frowns. 

“Something’s in my room.”

“What? Oh. The wraiths.” 

“You weren’t kidding about it being haunted?” Simon yelps, and I let myself laugh briefly at his horror.

“Of course not.”

“They don’t bother you?”

“They’re scared of me.” I blast them with fire every time they come near. I think something worse than wraiths used to live in my room, too, before I was born and my mother cleaned it out. They’ve never really come around often. “You can stay here if you like. Get your things, and we can set you up on the couch.” I turn around, heading for my closet, and Snow makes a noise like a gulping fish. I don’t look at him, just wait until the heat of his gaze leaves my back. Then I walk back, shut the door, and dress quicker than I ever have. Simon sleeps on the couch that night, snoring softly. 

  
*****

David Hall is on the Coven. I hate that man. But I’m still driving Simon to see him today. I called him ahead of time and told him I had something rather important to tell him, and he’d better clear an appointment for me. I didn’t tell him the important thing was his son. I don’t think he’d care. Davy Hall is the kind of person who thinks that the Old Families are scum, that children shouldn’t be allowed to read old books (‘they have to keep close to the modern language’) and that we shouldn’t teach things like history at Watford. He’s a revolutionary, a visionary, and he has no time for anyone. I just hope he’ll make time for Simon. 

“Ready?” I ask when we pull into the parking lot. Snow is wearing one of my jumpers and a pair of my jeans. (They’re both too long, he’s cuffed the legs and sleeves. The jeans are painfully tight. More painful for me than him probably. It’s still better than his Watford uniform.) 

“No.”

“We don’t-“

“Let’s go.” He interrupts, slamming open the door and storming towards the office building where Davy’s office is located. I’m scared for him. His jaw is set, and he looks like he’s ready to attack, when we finally get to Davy’s office, I can tell he’s nervous, but only because I’ve been watching him for the past eight years. I knock, and Davy opens the door. He stares at Simon, who holds out his hand. 

“David Hall?” 

“Yes, you don’t look like Pitch’s son.” David takes his hand anyways.

“My name is Simon Snow.” Simon says, and Davids eyes widen, and he drops Simons hand like a hot potato. 

“How did you find me?” He asks hoarsely. 

“It’s a long story.” I say, putting a hand on Simons shoulder casually. 

“Um, can- can I come in?” Simon asks. “I-I’d like to talk.” 

“No.” David snaps. “You may not. I don’t have time to talk. You’re- you’re not really mine you know. I’ve only met you once.” 

“What?” Simon looks confused, and hurt, and I resist the urge to punch David Hall across the face. I content myself with wrapping my arm around Simon’s shoulders. It’s more to show David that his son is loved -that Simon has a family, even if they aren’t blood relations- than it is to comfort Simon.

“Your mother insisted that we give you to those crazy people. Beck, no, Bunce. Anyways, we couldn’t- I couldn’t keep you.” He tells Simon, not even noticing the hurt look on his sons face.

“The Bunces aren’t crazy.” Simon says, scowling.

“Not as crazy at the Pitches.” David snarls, glaring at me. I give him a long, cold look. “Don’t get in with that lot, everyone on the Coven is cracked up.” He continues.

“Well we certainly know you are.” I blurt before I can stop myself. “Now, please, we’re not here for politics, we’re here about Simon. Do the good thing and talk to him, would you?”

“Nothing changes, hmm? Same old snarky elitist attitude as your mother.” I bristle, and Simon looks concerned.

“My mother is fighting for what’s right for the World of Mages.”

“You think Natasha Grimm-Pitch cares about the World of Mages? Her World of Mages, maybe!” David waves his hand around in the air. “The names on the Coven haven’t changed in 200 years, only the faces. They may as well carve ‘Pitch’ into the headmasters chair at Watford. All you Old Families care about is protecting your own power!” 

“Your name hasn’t been on the Coven for 200 years.” Simon points out quietly, ducking out from under my arm, and stepping forward, blocking David from slamming the door shut in our faces.

“Exactly! I need to educate these old-fashioned elitists! Ask Natasha Grimm-Pitch about suicide rates in low-magicians! Ask her what she’s doing to fight pixie sticks and other magickal diseases that don’t affect her own son and his cousins. We need new blood! New leaders, reforms and common vote!”

“Are you talking about a revolution?” Simon looks confused, like he’s in over his head. 

“What about our traditions?” I point out.

“We’ll build better traditions!” David shouts, shaking his sons shoulders. 

“And write new rules in blood.” I say. David points a shaking finger straight between my eyes, but before he can say anything, Simon interrupts. 

“But, erm, sir, what about my mother- what about me? Can- can we talk?” David turns his wild gaze on Simon, face softening slightly, hands going still in the air.

“I knew you were cracked.” He pats Simons head, then begins to turn away. “ The wrong vessel, wrong vessel. It’s all my fault- well, hers too, but mostly mine. I have to research- can’t get attached-“ David is muttering to himself wildly, but he’s flapping his hands in our faces, dismissing his only son without so much as a backwards glance. “The Humdrum isn’t- not the greatest Mage, really, just a boy.”

“What?” Simon demands.

“I said you’re just a boy! I don’t have time for you!” David yells, and Simon flinches. 

“I’m your son!” He says in a small voice.

“I don’t want you!” David snaps, and slams his door shut. Simon gasps, and crumbles, shrinking inside the jumper and running away down the hall. I hear him tumbling down the stairs and rush after him, following him to the car, where he’s sitting in the passenger seat, crying. 

“Simon?” I ask, touching his shoulder lightly. 

“ **_Just Drive_ ** .” He spits, saying it with Magic, but he’s not holding his wand, so it doesn’t go anywhere. I start the car and begin the trip back to Hampshire. There’s not really any traffic, so we make it to the dirt road that leads to the house in good time. Simon seems alright- until he unbuckles his seatbelt, opens his door, and tumbles out of the car. He’s scrambling out of the ditch as I slam down the brakes and fly out of the car after him, tackling him and pinning him down in the snow.

SIMON

The Bunces don’t want me.

My mother is dead. 

Agatha doesn’t want me

My father doesn’t have time for me. 

I don’t care. I’m done. Let the World of Mages deal with it’s own problems for once. 

BAZ

“Where are you going, Snow?” I growl, and Simon mumbles something about not wanting to anymore, giving up. “Oh hell no you aren’t. Get back in the car you git.” I tell him, and he spits words at me like watermelon seeds

“I’m alone. Nobody wants me, Baz, I don’t even want to be me. I’m leaving. There’s a river around here isn’t there? Where’s the nearest high building? Will you spell me dead? I can’t-“

“You’re wrong.” I tell him, staring straight into his bluebell eyes. 

“What?” 

“You’re wrong.” I reach for him, grasping his shoulders and pulling him towards me. “I want you.” I pull him into a tight hug, sapping as much of his warmth as I can. (It’s so cold.)

He pulls back after a moment of crying in my shoulder, but not much. Just enough that he can look at me with bloodshot eyes and red cheeks. My eyes shut, and I purse my lips. I’m so cold, and so tired. After a moment, I feel a hand stroking my hair back from my face. I open my eyes, and Simon’s face is inches from mine. He looks worried, confused, and a little hurt, but he’s also looking at me with almost affection(?). (Pinch me. What the fuck is this day?) I lean my head into his hand, just a little, not enough to admit defeat to the gorgeous git that is my roommate. His mouth is open, just a little, pink lips and tawny skin. I will not kiss Simon Snow. I will not kiss Simon Snow. I will not kiss Simon Snow.

“Baz.” I lean forward, nose just brushing his- I will not kiss Simon Snow. 

And then he kisses me. 

SIMON 

I’m so cold, but Baz’s lips are warm and soft. 

BAZ

Everything is so cold, but Simons mouth is hot. 

He’s pushing me, so I push back. I’m sure he can feel my pulse beating a frantic tattoo against his hand. 

SIMON

Baz’s mouth is colder than Agatha’s.

Because he’s a boy. I think, and then: No you git, because you’re both kneeling in the snow. 

Maybe it’s because he’s starving.

Maybe it’s because he’s sick; halfway between here and there.

Maybe it’s because he’s a boy.

He’s just a boy.

I’m kissing a boy.

I’m kissing Baz. 

Why does it feel so right? 

BAZ

We’re both going to get hypothermia out here if we don’t stop soon. But I don’t care. 

SIMON

If Baz thinks I’m ever letting him go, he’s wrong. I like him like this. Under my thumb. Under my hands. Not off plotting with Agatha and starving and nearly being burned to a crisp by dragons. I’ve finally got you where I want you. I think. I’ve got you now. 

BAZ

Snow has done this before.

He’s doing this nice thing with his chin, moving it up and down. Tilting his head, pushing me back further. He’s running one thumb over my cheekbone and the other is still tangled in my hair. I don’t try to mimic him, I just let him go. I’m kissing Simon Snow. Simon Snow is kissing me! Alister Crowley I’m living a charmed life. 

SIMON

Suddenly, Baz grabs my shoulders and pushes me off him. 

It only works because I’m not expecting it. 

“We’re going.” He says shortly, grabbing me by the collar of my t-shirt and yanking me to my feet. He holds my hand all the way to the car, and until we get back to his house. It’s warm (his hand), so I hold it to my chest. Baz stares straight at the road, and the sky grows dim. We get home after everyone else has gone to their rooms, disappearing for the night. Baz leads me to the kitchen, and lets go of my hand to open the fridge. “Are you hungry?”

“Yeah.”

“Coke? Milk?” He pulls a casserole dish out, and unearths some left over take-away from the back of the fridge. 

“Milk.” I tell him, and he sets the casserole and take-away in my arms before fishing around for some milk and napkins. I’m grinning like an idiot. I’m not sure why I’m so happy, nothing’s changed, really. Has anything changed? 

The kissing. That’s new. The wanting to kiss. The looking over at Baz and thinking about the way his hair falls in a lazy wave over his forehead.

Yeah, nope. I’ve thought about that before. 

And a lot of other things, like how his eyes look like the ocean, and how his skin looks like something you’d want to touch, just because. 

I want to kiss a bloke. That is a change, but not one I’m fully prepared to think about right now. 

…Again. I want to kiss him again.


	4. Chapter 4

BAZ

I don’t know if Simon’s noticed he’s shivering, because he’s grinning at me like he’s just won the lottery. Is that really all that was needed to snap him out of his suicidal crying funk? I turn on the light and sit down at the end of my bed, patting the space beside me and casting  **_You’re Getting Warmer_ ** on the food, then on Snow, and then on myself. We finish the food in record time, (I eat, because I don’t want to start a fight) and I stare at Snow as he drinks the milk in about two gulps. I walk over to the fireplace and slump down beside it, lighting the fire with my wand. Snow comes and sits next to me.

“Are you alright now?” I ask him softly.

Simon shrugs. I hate it when he does that.

“Why’d you kiss me?” I ask him, quirking an eyebrow and hoping I don’t look nervous for the answer. 

“I guess I wanted to.” Snow says, shrugging.

“Since when?” He shrugs again, and I growl in annoyance. 

“Did you want me to?” He asks.

“No.” I lie. “Why would I want that? Why would that thought ever occur to me? ‘Hey, you know what will fix the fact that my best friends father is a psychotic asshole? You know what will fix the fact that the Old Families are fighting and the Coven is corrupted and Magic is declining? Snogging my aforementioned half-wit roommate! The one who’s in love with someone else!’”

“I’m not in love with someone else.” Simon wrinkles his brow.

“Agatha.” I say, and then “And Simon, we’ve been friends for years, why this all of a sudden?” 

“Because we’re not friends, Baz,” Simon insists, and I fight the hurt from my expression, “We’re more than that.” He says, and I turn away to hide my blush. 

“One kiss, and you think the world’s rotating backwards.” I grumble. 

“Two kisses.” He says, and curls his fingers round the back of my neck. 

SIMON

I wonder how long he’s wanted this.

I wonder how long I’ve wanted it. 

I’d say that I didn’t, but if that were true, why do I have a list in my head of all the things I’ve always wanted to do to Baz? 

Like this:

Running my thumbs along the lines of his face. Pushing my fingers through his, thick, silky hair. I clench my fist in it for a moment, and Baz bites my lip gently in response. I’m kneeling above him, now, and he’s got one hand on my shoulder and the other gripping my collar, pulling me down towards him. My own hands are trailing everywhere, running over his shoulders and face and chest. I can feel the burn scar on his rib cage through the thin material of his shirt. 

“You and that dragon.” I mumble against his jaw. Baz runs his long fingers through my hair, and I roll off him to lay down next to him on my stomach. He rolls onto his side and stares down at me. (He’s always looking down at me. I guess he’ll always be taller, the prat.) I feel a bit bleary, really, all the running and crying and freezing and kissing and kissing and kissing has worn me out, so I don’t say anything, just stare up at Baz, grinning like the idiot I am. 

BAZ

Simon lying on his stomach, grinning at me like the cat who ate the canary. He rolls onto his back and grabs my hand, the scarred one, pressing the knuckles to his lips. 

“I didn’t think you were gay.” I told him quietly. 

He shrugs. Crowley. 

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know. It means I don’t know.” He says, blinking slowly. “I’ve not had a lot of time to think about it. I’ve got a lot on my plate.” I laugh at that, a juvenile, snorty laugh. Simon laughs too. “Are you gay?” 

“Yeah, completely.” To the eternal disappointment of my father. 

“So you do this all the time?” 

“No.” I roll my eyes.

“Then how do you know you’re gay?”

“I just do. How do you not know?”

“I try not to think.” He reaches up and brushes my hair back from my face, then laces his fingers back in mine. 

“About being gay?” I absently rub the backs of his knuckles with my thumb.

“About anything. I make lists of things not to think about.”

“Why?”

“Because,” He says, “it hurts to think about things you can’t have or can’t help.” He frowns, “S’better not to think about it.”

“Am I on your list?” 

He laughs and shakes his head, curls brushing my collar bone. “Fat chance.” He says sleepily. “Trying not to think about you… s’like trying not to think about an elephant standing on my chest.” 

I think about that. Simon thinking about me. I grin. 

“I can’t decide whether that’s a compliment…” 

“Me neither.”

“So you don’t think.” 

“S’pointless.” 

“I don’t understand you. You’re the most powerful magician who’s ever lived –probably- you can have anything you want. Why wouldn’t you think about that?”

Simon pushes himself up so he’s sitting, leaning against the wall next to the fireplace, and I push myself to sit beside him, dropping my head on his shoulder. He sighs, “Because it doesn’t matter. When the Humdrum comes after me, I fight him, when he sends dragons, I kill them,” He pauses, running the pads of his fingers across my ribcage –across my scar- again, “when you refuse to eat for half of fifth year and end up in hospital, I go off. I don’t get to choose or plan, I just take it as it comes. Someday, I guess I’ll loose, I’ll face something too big, but I’ll fight anyways, until I can’t anymore. What is there to think about?”

“You could stop, you know. Let somebody else take care of it.” 

“What have I got to loose? What would come out of it? I’ll die in the end because that’s how it’s supposed to go! It’s not like I have a family to protect. And, really, you and Penny are pretty much my only real friends.”

“You have friends.” I argue.

“Nah.” Simon mumbles, resting his head on mine, lips against my ear. “I have acquaintances. People to play football and talk about homework with. I don’t have close friends, ones that would miss me really terribly if I was gone.” He slides back down to the floor, lying on his back, and I thread my fingers through his hair. It’s thicker than mine, more curly, and it shines in the firelight. 

“You’ve got me.” I point out. “I’d miss you.”

“Yeah…” He closes his eyes, leaning into my palm. I slide down to lie beside him. There’s a mole on his cheek I’ve wanted to kiss since I was twelve. I do. 

“I always though you were going to abandon me.” I admit. I know he worries about me abandoning him –though not quite the same way- but this is the first time I’ve ever admitted I worry about loosing him. “I always thought one day you’d get tired of me.”

“Me too.” He says, voice blurry and languid, like he has all the time in the world to say what he wants. “I tried not to think about it.” I snicker, and so does he, and then he’s pulling my shirt over my head and bringing my lips down to his. 

*****

I don’t know what time it is. It’s getting a little lighter in the room, as if the sun is trying to sneak up on us. Simon drags himself to his feet and stumbles, attempting to feel his way to the couch. I also stand, and guide him there, he lays down, holding my shoulder, and pulls me down on top of him. 

“Oof.” I huff, my breath escaping my lungs, “What are you doing-“ His mouth ghosts over my throat, and I shuffle around, trying to balance myself over him without squishing him. (The height difference makes it a little difficult, and the fact that I’ve been taken completely unawares.) He doesn’t even notice that I’m trying to get comfortable, just pulls me right down on top of him and rolls onto his side. (I guess that works?) He snuggles closer (in a way that would be weirdly cuddly for Simon Snow if it weren’t adorable) and wraps his arm around my waist, holding his chest to my back. (Alister Crowley.) I sigh, close my eyes and just give up. Fine. Fine Snow, have it your way. 

*****

When I wake up, Simon is still holding me to him, my legs curled under me, tangled in his. I remove his arm gently, sit up, and prod his stomach. He doesn’t move, so I watch him for a minute before poking him again.

“You don’t get to watch me sleep now,” he grunts as he opens his eyes, “just because we’re snogging.”

“Just because we snogged.” I correct. “And I was trying to wake you up.” 

“I’m up.” He grumbles, snatching at my arm, trying to pull me back down to the couch. “But I don’t want to be.” 

“Penny is coming to discuss the Humdrum. She talked to her dad and she has a revolutionary idea, apparently.” I tell him, slapping his hand away. 

“She’s coming here?”

“Yes.” Simon rubs his eyes and pushes his hair back, looking adorably bleary. 

“To your gothic mansion-“

“Victorian, actually.”

“-to discuss the Humdrum? You’ve never invited us here before!”

“Why does that matter?” I ask him, frowning. “And I didn’t invite you, you hitchhiked to my door!”

“After you invited me.” 

“Oh, so now you care about the details.” I say, standing up. “I’ll meet you in the Library when you’re ready to be sensible.” I try my hardest not to stomp out of the room. I stomp down the stairs instead. I grab a few muffins from the kitchen and ask Vera to put the kettle on. I turn on the big monitor in the library, and open a word document, creating yet another T-chart. Snow walks through the door, snatches a muffin, and takes a massive bite. I pretend not to notice him. My stomach growls. I didn’t really have dinner last night, and a few spoonfuls of casserole only go so far.

“Baz, please eat something.” 

I huff in response.

“Baz, please.”

I continue ignoring him.

“Baz, I’m not trying to ruin anything. I don’t want you to hate me. I’m doing this because I care about you, ok? Please eat.“

“I don’t see why this matters so much to you.” 

“What?”

“Me not eating. I mean, I have very good bone structure, I’d look better as a skeleton anyways.” Simon blanches, then shakes his head. I sigh.“Snow, have you already forgotten about the casserole?”

“You- you can’t survive the day off of a few bites of last nights casserole.”

“No. I could survive the week.”

“Baz, don’t make me hospitalize you.”

“Fine.” I say, because I’m tired of fighting. Because I’m tired of the worry line that appears between his eyes every time he looks at me. “Pass me a muffin.”

“Thank you.” 

“I don’t want to fight.” I admit, taking a small bite of the muffin.

“Oh. Good.” He says, turning away, cheeks flushed. “’Cause I like this better than fighting.” I frown, ready to point out that he started the whole thing,

“Simon-“

“A-ha!” He jabs his finger into my chest. It scares the hell out of me; I’ve seen him kill a dog with less effort. (He said it was  _ were _ , I think it was just excited.) “You did it again!”

“What?” I slap his hand away from me. 

He sticks his other hand in my face, pointing. “Called me Simon.”

“What would you prefer? Greatest Mage?”

His hand drops. “Simon, actually. I… I like it.” 

I swallow, and it must be obvious, because he looks at my neck. “Simon. You’re being idiotic.”

“Because I like this better than fighting?”

“Because there is no ‘this’!” I insist.

“You slept in my arms.” He says, almost accusingly.

“Fitfully.” He twists his fingers together, and I grab his hand, because I’m weak, and he’s Simon Snow. He’s Simon Snow, and he’s standing there with his tawny skin and his moles and his morning breath. 

“It’s not that I don’t prefer this, it’s that I can’t imagine it. My family objects to everything you- mean.” 

“What?” He looks confused.

“You mean I don’t care about politics.” I explain. “You mean I don’t care about keeping magic to the Old Families only. You mean I’m gay. You mean-“ I break off, studying his face. He looks a bit shocked. “you mean  _ everything _ .” 

“There.” Simon says, smugly. “You do like this better than fighting.” 

“I just said that.” I grumble.

“Maybe the World of Mages will see us working together, and see that we’re better off uniting and defeating the Humdrum together-“

“And then we can all sing a song about co-operation, and dance around in nancy outfits.” Simon laughs a little, then frowns.

“I was thinking we could stop fighting all the time, and you could start eating again because you’re not alone-.”

“Potato, potahto.” 

He tugs my hand and I fall forward a bit. Or maybe I’m swooning- it’s not beneath me. (Snow is. Beneath me, I mean. By at least three inches.) 

“You’re my best friend.” He says.

“Not anymore.”

“No. You’re right. More than that now.”

He reaches out with his other hand and touches my stomach. I lean towards him a bit more, almost purring. He’s rubbing my stomach, and I close my eyes, because it feels so good (so good). I lean forward, and he meets me halfway, mouth open, pushing together sloppily. Snow kissed me last night until my mouth was sore. He held himself up on all fours above me and made me reach up for his mouth- and I did. (Because I’m an embarrassment.) I would again, though. I’d cross every line for him. 

  
  


SIMON

If Penny were here she’d be demanding an explanation. If Penny were here, she’d wonder why we were kissing in the library instead of reading or interrogating Natasha Grimm-Pitch. But Penny's not here. I’m busy with the feeling of Baz’s mouth on mine and his hand in mine, so I don’t here the footsteps behind us until someone clears their throat. Baz stands up straight, and I leap away from him so fast I just about teleport. The maid or housekeeper or whatever is standing in the archway. She looks as cool and collected as the family she serves usually does. “Mr. Pitch, you have guests. Two young ladies.” She must be paid not to say anything about anything- although I’m sure two boys kissing is probably mild. She’s probably walked in on dark rituals and violent interrogations. The Pitches are terrifying. 

“Thank you, Vera.” Baz smooths his hair and shirt, looking not the least bit apologetic. “Send them in.

“Girls? More than one?”

“Agatha,” He’s looking over my shoulder, and then he gives this tight little almost smile. “Welcome. Hello, Penny.” I spin around, the girls are walking in the door, they must not have waited for the maid to fetch them. Suddenly, Baz is the perfect host, getting tea and biscuits, asking about holidays, making small talk, laughing, and eating- eating! I’m sitting on the couch next to Penny, and Agatha is perched on the arm of Baz’s chair, looking incredibly pleased with herself. I didn’t know they were such good friends, but here they are, snickering together as if they’ve been comrades since birth. 

“We need to talk about the Humdrum.” Penny says, after we’ve made idle chatter for about an hour. 

“If I ever become a super-villain, help me come up with a better name than the Insidious Humdrum.” Baz sneers, and Agatha giggles. 

“I was going to suggest the Insidious Pitch-“

“Copyright infringement.” Baz jokes (Baz jokes!) “The Humdrum’s managers would be after me.” 

“Stop flirting with Baz!” Penny snaps at Agatha, who slides off Baz’s chair and sits beside me on the couch with a huff. 

“Nobody’s flirting with anybody.” Agatha insists.

“Seducing, then.”

“Nobody is seducing Baz.” I say. Baz frowns at me.

“The Humdrum, then.” Penny says, bringing us all to attention. “The holes started appearing in 1998, but they got stronger starting in 2008, which was the year Simon came to Watford, the year he actually started attacking us. Our dad thinks that he took on Simons form to mock him-“

“Why does he hate Simon so much?” Agatha wonders.

“He seems to hate magic.” Baz points out, “And Snow does have more of it than anyone.” 

“So the holes seem to appear wherever the Humdrum is at the time, not where he sends his attacks; the holes don’t appear at Watford, but he’s attacked us there more than anywhere.” Penny says, banging away at the portable keyboard Baz has given her for the giant computer monitor set up on the coffee table between us and Baz’s armchair. Baz frowns, stands, and makes his way over to the couch, squeezing in between Agatha and I, then leaning over me to take the keyboard from Penny. A brief tug-of-war ensues, which Penny wins, and Baz sinks back into the couch beside me, forced to let her type. 

“It’s almost like the holes appear so the Humdrum can use the magic for his attacks…” Baz muses.

“Like he’s sucking it out of the atmosphere?” Agatha says.

“Yeah, I guess.” Baz replies, thinking.

“Like he doesn’t have any of his own, so he has to use whatever other Mages have put out, like recycling. Only he can’t refill it, because he doesn’t have any magic to replace it with.” I say, catching on to what Baz is saying.

“But why?” Penny frowns, “how does he even exist if he doesn’t have magic? He’s not a Normal, but he’s not a Mage, so what is he?” We talk this over for hours, until it’s time for Agatha and Penny to go. Baz and I walk them to the door, where Agatha pulls on a soft white coat and a matching scarf and hat set. 

“Come on, Simon, didn’t you bring a coat?” I look around at Baz, who’s brows are furrowed in confusion. 

“What?” I say.

“Come on,” Agatha says, “We have to go.”

“Go where?”

“We came to get you.” She says.

“To take me back to Watford?” Agatha frowns.

“Just… Come on, it’s Christmas Eve. My parents will be glad to see you.” I look at Penny, who shrugs and says

“Micah and I are going out for dinner.” I’d almost forgotten he was staying here (in a hotel with his parents and Penny) for Christmas.

“I…” I don’t know what to use as an excuse. I don’t want to go with Agatha and Penny. I want to stay here, with Baz. “I should stay here, talk to Baz’s mum about the Humdrum…”

“Simon.” Agatha stares at me, hard. I don’t think she wants to get back together, either, but she still wants me to come for Christmas. 

“But I thought-“

“Come on.” Agatha insists. “Who’ll I watch  _ Doctor Who  _ with if you don’t?” I look at Baz, who looks pissed off. I shake my head, mouthing ‘sorry’. 

“Right.” I say. “Right. I’ll get my jacket.”

BAZ

I’m playing my violin when Simon comes back. Standing in my room, in a suit (greenish black with a hint of silver. Mother bought me a grey one, but it makes me look like a middle aged museum guide.) waiting for dinner. My bow glides across the strings gracefully, and my fingers know exactly where to go, which is good, because I’m too busy missing Simon (I’m so weak) to think about it properly. There’s a knock on the door, and the violin screeches violently. 

“Basil.” My father sticks his head in the door. “Your boyfriend is back.” 

“What?” I snap. 

“I’m kidding, Basil. Your mother told me to try it.” My father says, pushing his hair back from his face. He has the same hair I do, only streaked with grey and white- thick, wavy with a stark widow’s peak. It’s nice to know my hairline probably won’t recede completely. I favour my mother in appearance, but I consciously mimic the way my father carries himself: the way you 

can never see what’s happening behind his eyes. I used to practice in front of the mirror. My mother is more open, wearing her feelings where you can see them (if you know where to look). Her softness gets under my fathers shell sometimes, passes into his persona, resulting in moments like this. Moments where he acts less like a king and more like a father. 

“What are you talking about. I don’t have a boyfriend- and besides, you’d disown me if I did.” I reply, letting the don’t-care front fall for a minute before closing my face off again. 

“Basilton.” Full name, all three syllables. He must have something important to say. “I would never disown you. For one, your mother would never let me, and for two, the only reason I don’t like-“ He breaks off, looking me up and down. “this- this-“

“I’m gay.” I interrupt.

“That.” He says, looking uncomfortable. “Is that- I- I don’t understand it, Basil. I don’t know how to talk to you about the future when-“

“The future I want is to survive, father.”

“My father and I used to talk about me inheriting the family name, passing it on, having children, how to raise children and be a good husband and a good father, and how to be a leader in the family. I don’t know how-“ He looks frustrated, stone face betraying just a hint of emotion. 

“It’s the same, father.” I tell him, taking pity on his stumbling words. “I can still inherit the family name and pass it on. Just because I’m gay doesn’t mean I can’t have children, be a father, or a husband.” He looks at me curiously, a mix of confusion- and maybe pride(??). “Right now I’m just concerned about surviving Watford.” 

“And making friends with Simon Snow is helping you do that?”

“I’ve always been friends with Snow.” I know why. It’s completely irregular, a change of character on my part resulting in a lot of confusion from my family. Simon and I have never been holiday friends; we rarely stay in touch in the summer, and now he’s here for Christmas.

“You’re closer now.”

“Not really, just different.” I explain. “Why does it matter?”

“You smile more now.” My father says abruptly. “Simon Snow is at the door, go down and meet him.”

“What?”

“I’m assuming he’ll need clothes for dinner.” I’m left standing in my room, confused and curious. I run down the stairs, turn the corner, and there is Simon. Standing in the foyer, covered in snow and mud. 

“Déjà vu.” I say, resisting the urge to grin like an idiot. (I am an idiot.)

“There’s no good way to get to your house from the road.” Simon runs a hand through his curls, smearing dirt across his face and into his hair. 

“Penny and Agatha?” 

“Halfway to London by now.”

“Why’d you come back?” I almost whisper, scared of the answer. 

“I can leave if I’m not welcome.” 

“That’s not what I meant.” 

“I thought you’d be happy that I came back.” 

I step closer to him, and my voice drops to a menace. “Why? So we can tumble around and kiss and pretend to be happy, carefree boyfriends?” 

Snow shakes his head, like he’s reached his limit, then rolls his eyes impressively. “Yeah. Let’s do that, okay?” 

“Take off your shoes. You can have a shower and I’ll find you something to wear- but hurry, we’re going to be late to dinner.” 

Simon Snow looks stunning in a grey suit.

SIMON

Penny and Agatha are arguing. Nobody has said anything about Baz and I spending Christmas together, but I can just imagine how the conversation would go. 

“He’s spent eight years fighting with you and trying to off himself!”

And if they knew about the kissing-

“You’re not even gay, Simon!”

“You’re supposed to be against everything his family stands for!”

But he told me I mean everything. 

“Stop.” I choke out. “Pull over.” 

Penny turns to me. “Are you ok?” Agatha pulls the car over, and I’m out the door before it even stops moving. 

“I need to go back.”

“What? Why?”

“I just- do. He shouldn’t be alone right now.” I lean in the window. “You go, you’ll be late for Christmas Eve. Go.” 

I can still hear them shouting at me after I round the corner and the car is out of sight. But they don’t come after me. 

*****

Baz is silently laughing at me all through dinner. I can see it in his eyes, the hint of amusement watching me struggle to converse with his father (who asks about school and my future prospects(?) as if I have a future) and his mother, who wants to know about how Baz and I found my father. I tell her it was pure grit and determination, and a lot of arguing. I also tell her we’re trying not to fight as much.

“Good thing, too. Arguing can stay in the first term, and now you can be… friends.” I sneak a look at Baz, who wiggles his eyebrow suggestively. I blush, and look down at my plate. Mordelia is the only one I feel comfortable talking to, and that’s because she’s asking easy questions: is Santa real? How do I know? What do I want for Christmas? 

After another half hour of awkward conversation, and me watching Baz put food in his mouth (Three full meals today!) the plates are cleared away, and we move to the library for tea. (I didn’t know rich people actually live like this. Maybe they don’t, but they just do it for show when guests are around.) After the tea comes, though, it’s clear that this family doesn’t cozy round the fire for some quality time together. Headmistress Pitch sits at a desk with her laptop, and her husband takes his in front of the fire. Baz grabs ‘Matilda’ by Raol Dahl off the shelf and sits on the couch, leaving space for Mordelia to sit on one side of him, and enough for me to squeeze in on the other.

“You want to read ‘Matilda’, Simon?” Baz offers me the book. “Mori loves it.” 

“I thought you were going to read it.” I say. 

“I was, but I like to listen, as well.” He offers an almost smile. 

“I’m not a very good reader…” I say quietly. “You know that.”

“I know.” He replies, quiet, caring, almost. “I just thought maybe you’d like to try. It might be easier to read out loud.”

“I- no.” Baz nods, opens the book, and begins to read. It’s calming; the only sound is Baz’s smooth voice, reading. Mordelia goes to bed after a few chapters, but Baz keeps reading. His voice has almost soothed me to sleep when the maid comes back in, bringing biscuits, biscotti (I didn’t even know what that was until Baz explained.) and scones. I try one. It’s the same- exactly the same- as the ones at Watford.

“Is something wrong, Simon?” Headmistress Pitch asks as I stare in shock at the scone in my hand. 

“Are these the same scones we have at Watford?” Baz’s mother grins. 

“Of course. I love them, don’t you?” I feel my face breaking into a grin. Baz scoffs. “No need to be so condescending Tyrannus, dear.” Now it’s my turn to scoff. 

“Are you laughing at my name, Snow?” Baz almost looks amused. 

“Only a little.” I mumble. 

“Everyone laughs at it.” Natasha Grimm-Pitch says, “That’s why we gave it to him in the first place, right, Ty?” She smirks at her son.

“I wouldn’t know, mum, I wasn’t part of the decision making committee.” I take another bite of scone, watching the two of them. 

“Son of mine, I thought you were quicker than that.”

“I was a week old!” 

“Stop arguing!” Mr. Grimm says suddenly, and I jump. 

“We’re not!” Baz and his mother chorus. They’re so close, these two, (they’re now having an extremely unsophisticated poking war.) and I’m struck by the realization that I’ve never really had a mother. I wish I had. Baz spoils my reverie by whacking me on the head with ‘Matilda’. 

“Ouch!” I start, and Baz just smirks evilly. 

“Oh, beat him up, Simon.” Mrs. Grimm-Pitch grins.

“Can I really?” I ask her, stuffing the last of my scone into my mouth. 

“Of course.” She smirks. “He needs a someone to beat him up every once in awhile. I should have had another… His ego would be less problematic if he had a brother to squash it down.”

“I do not have an ego problem!” Baz protests, and I take the opportunity to tackle him, pinning him down with one arm and tickling his ribs with the other. His mother laughs hysterically, and puts down her laptop to join in the torturing of her son. When we finally give up, Baz is nearly crying from laughing, and my grin has split my face in two. 

“I’m turning in then I suppose.” Mrs. Grimm-Pitch says after we’ve all caught our breath. “Goodnight, Basil, Simon.”

“Goodnight.” I answer.

“’Night mum.” Baz says, cheeks flushed and eyes flashing with mirth. 

“Simon, I do hope you’re staying for the rest of the hols. Basil can drive you back to Watford when he goes back the day before the semester starts.” I stare at her, wondering if I heard correctly; Natasha Grimm-Pitch wants me around for Christmas?! She mistakes my surprise for hesitation, “If you want to go earlier I can take you on New Years day.” 

“No, thank you- I’m mean yes- but- I’ll just- I’d love to stay, thank you!” I manage to spit out. 

“Good.” She smiles, and casts a knowing look over to her son. “We’re glad to have you.” Baz looks at his father, who nods briefly. He disappears out the door after his wife, and Baz looks at me, hard. 

“What?” I ask.

“You confuse me.” Baz says simply.

“Because I don’t think? Because I don’t know if I’m gay? Because I came back even though I left?”

“All of the above.” 

“I’m confused too. And I’m not a very good boyfriend.” Baz turns away.

“I’m not going to tell anyone about us, Snow. If it makes you feel better.”

“No- that’s not what I meant. I mean I’ve always been a terrible boyfriend. That’s why Agatha broke up with me. I basically just did what I though she wanted me to, but I always did it wrong. I never put her first. In three years, I never got it right.” 

“Then why did you stay together?”

“Well, I wasn’t about to break up with Agatha, it wasn’t her fault.” 

Baz smoothes his jacket. I like this suit- I like this suit on him. 

“I’m just saying, I don’t know how to be your boyfriend. And I don’t think you’d want that from me.”

“Fine.” He says, “understood.” His profile is lit by the fire, and I can see his frown.

“We’re doomed.” I say. “You know that. Romeo-and-Juliet style.” 

“Absolutely.” He agrees, still not looking at me. 

“But- I like to look at you.” I say helplessly. (I suck at this) “I like-“ I don’t know what to say: I like to kiss you? I like to sleep with you in my arms? I like to tease you and cuddle with you? “you. I like you. And I like this. All that we’ve been doing.” 

He raises his eyebrows.

“I don’t care if you don’t like me- I’m used to it. But I like you, Baz, I like this. And I still want this, if I can have it.”

“What’s this, Snow?” 

“Your boyfriend.” I say shyly. “I want to be your terrible boyfriend.” 

Baz smiles slightly, and swings around, grabbing me by the back of the neck and pressing his lips to mine. 


	5. Chapter 5

SIMON

I wake up feeling hungry.

And it’s not until I wake up that I realize that it’s not me who’s hungry. Baz is awake, too, standing at the end of his bed (where we both fell asleep last night after a long cuddling/snogging session. Baz will deny the cuddling part.) 

“Do you feel it?” He whispers.

“Of course I do.” I hiss back, throwing the covers off. The feeling doesn’t go away, it’s sandpaper in my lungs, sucking at my magic. Baz grabs his jacket and leads me out the door, down the hall, and to the front door of the manor. The foyer is lit up from the light of a full moon and the snow falling gently outside. I open the door and we run out into the snow. The feeling is stronger here, almost like we’re in a dead spot. Baz is breathing heavily, panting and gasping, sweat beading on his bare arms even though it’s freezing outside. I reach out to grab him, push him back inside, but he moves away from me. 

“We have to find him. If he’s here, he’ll leave a dead spot when he goes.”

We stumble through the forest, Baz knows where he’s going, but I keep tripping on roots and bumping into things. When we hear him laughing, Baz stops abruptly, and I bump into him, my magic sloshing forwards, spilling over the sides of me. Baz keels over, looking sick. 

“Sorry!” I gasp, reaching for him.

“Don’t touch me, Snow, it makes it worse.” 

“Sorry!” I straighten up, and step away from him. And he’s right there, leaning against a tree. Him. The Insidious Humdrum.

And he looks like me.

“Hello.” He says, tossing his ball into the air. Baz stares in shock as he catches it, frowns, then tucks the ball into the pocket of his grotty jeans.

“You can talk.” I say.

“I can now. I can do all sorts of things now.” He grabs a pile of snow from the ground, and forms a ball, but it falls through his hand. He grimaces and tries again. This time it works, and he throws the snowball at Baz, who smacks it away with his hand before coughing blood onto the ground. 

“Why do you look like me?” I ask, snatching a worried glance at Baz, who glares and nudges his chin towards the Humdrum; ‘pay attention’. 

“This is just what I look like. Why wouldn’t I look like you.” 

“But you’re not me.”

“No. I’m just what gets left behind when you’re finished.”

“Simon.” Baz yelps. 

“What?” But then I realize what; my magic is pouring off me, pooling and lighting up the whole forest. Baz is leaning on a tree, face gaunt and pale. The Humdrum has his hand on Baz’s chest, and he’s grinning. 

“What are you doing? Leave him alone!” I cry and run over, pushing the Humdrum out of the way. 

“It’s like a void.” Baz coughs more blood. “You- he- pushed a void into me, and everything else left to make room.” 

“What did you do to him?” I demand, turning on the Humdrum.

“I didn’t know I could do that to humans.” The Humdrum looks awed, and proud. “I just gave him some of my nothing. And then he’s drawn to the biggest something of all, you. And then you give me more nothing. It’s a great game.” Baz collapses forward into my arms, coughing more blood and clawing at me. 

“I’m hungry.” 

“What, Baz?” I’ve never heard him say those words before- without a ‘not’ between them.

“Magic. My magic is gone.” He says hollowly. “I’m so hungry, and you’re so full.”

“You can have it.” I say, lifting him and leaning him against the tree. “You know you can.” And I turn on the tap, letting the magic wash out of me and into Baz. The Humdrum looks impressed. 

“That’s even better than fighting! When did you learn that?” 

“Did you take his magic?” I yell as Baz’s hand closes around my wrist. 

“I just gave him some of my nothing.” The Humdrum says, grinning manically, an expression that I’ve never seen on my own face. 

“Simon!” Baz shouts. “Enough!” I let go of him, and step away, but the magic keeps pouring out. The Humdrum says something, I don’t hear what, and then he reaches out and puts a hand on my shoulder. It’s like he stuck a cork in a wine bottle. My magic stops, pressure building inside me. The Humdrum looks disappointed, and lets go, and I explode. My magic flys everywhere like it’s been shot from a canon, and in the hailstorm of light, everything inside me goes dark. 

BAZ

I feel burnt out. 

Incinerated. That kid –it was Simon- emptied me somehow. Like he pressed my magic out or down, and then Simon filled the gap with fire. Simon is lying beside me now, shaking and panting, and I wipe the blood off my mouth, roll over and wrap my arms around him, pulling him onto my chest. My arms feel hollow, but he feels solid enough. Simon Snow is the Humdrum. Or… the Humdrum is Simon Snow. 

“He used you.” Simon mumbles. “He used you against me.” 

“Everyone does.” I say, gently sliding my arms tighter around him.

“I’m sorry.” 

Simon Snow is the Humdrum. I start laughing, laughing so hard I’m nearly crying. Simon looks up at me. 

“Why are you laughing?”

“Because you’re the Humdrum, Snow!” 

“I’m not-“

“You’re the Chosen One, the Greatest Mage, but you’re also the greatest threat to magic!” The irony. The irony! 

“I’m not the Humdrum. I’d know if I was.”

“You’re a fucking super-villain.” I say, running my fingers through his curls. He scowls.

“I’m not.” I love it when he pouts like that. I sit up, and he almost falls off me, but I grab him and pull him back onto my lap, kneeling across my thighs. I lean in, and nip his lower lip affectionately, before kissing him soundly. 

“I’m not the Humdrum.” He says when I back off for air. “I’d know if I was.”

“You give yourself to much credit. You’re exceedingly thick- and criminally good-looking- have I mentioned that?” I tell him. 

“No.” I kiss him again, and he kisses me back, weaving his hands in my hair. (It’s so good.) “I’m not the Humdrum.” He grumbles against my lips. “But why does thinking so make you want to kiss me?” 

“Everything makes me want to kiss you.” I laugh. “Merlin, you’re thick, you haven’t figured that out yet.”

“I’m not the Humdrum!” 

“What you are is a fucking disaster, Simon.” He shivers in my arms, and I press a kiss to the side of his neck. “You literally couldn’t be a bigger mess.”

“And you like that?”

“I love it.”

“Why?”

“Because we match.” 

SIMON

When we get back to the house, Natasha Grimm-Pitch is screaming. Baz pulls out his wand and tries to cast a spell. Nothing happens. I can’t feel my magic anywhere. 

“It’s a dead spot.” I whisper. “It’s one of the Humdrums dead spots.” 

“Basilton!” Natasha shrieks, spotting us. “Simon, Basil, oh Merlin!” She flys at us, nightgown blowing behind her and sweeps both of us up in her arms. I guess she doesn’t dislike me as much as I thought. “Simon, Baz, are you all right?”

“We’re fine mum, mum, let go, we’re all right.”

“Basil, what happened to you?” She takes in the leaves in his hair and the shaking in his hands, the blood on his jacket.

“I’m fine mum.” Baz stares at me, pale and pinched looking. “You have to go.” He says. “You have to tell Penny’s dad.”

“Baz- I’m sorry.” I say, feeling like I’m about to cry. 

“Run!” Baz snaps, “Go! You have to fix this!” 

I run. I run down the drive, along the road, until my magic came back to me in a rush. I remembered when Penny and I got taken by the Humdrum last year, how I imagined wings, and flew us out of there. I think about my magic welling up and bursting through my shoulders, and it does. No feathers this time, I must have subconsciously been thinking about the dragon. I don’t think about flying, I just think about where I want to go. 

*****

I don’t really remember flying or bursting in the Wellbeloves door. I remember Agatha’s mother screaming and Penny casting  **_Nonsense_ ** over and over and over. I wake up in the guest bedroom I always used to have at Christmas. Penny is sitting next to me, looking worried.

“What?”

“Thank Magic! I though you were never going to speak again.”

“Why?”

“You couldn’t say anything last night. Agatha was crying. She thought you’d lost your voice.”

I think about the wings that must be folded on my back (I’m lying on my stomach) and they spread out, knocking Penny over. 

“Simon!”

“Sorry!”

“Are these permanent?” She demands frowning. 

“They’re the same as last time.” I tell her. “I just thought about them and…” I think about them again, about not needing them anymore. The weight lifts from my shoulder and they’re gone. Penny stares. 

“What about the tail?”

“Tail?” I reach down and feel and ropy, leathery tail. “Jesus.” I think about getting rid of that, too, and it zips through my hand like the cord of the hoover when you press the little button to wrap it up. 

“Simon, what happened last night?” I shudder, thinking about Baz coughing blood over the snow. I have to find him, make sure he’s ok. 

“The Humdrum.” I say. “He attacked us- me- he took Baz’s magic- but I gave him mine so it’s ok- he tried to use Baz against me-“

“He created the largest hole in Great Britain! All of Hampshire is gone!”

“No… oh no…” I burry my head in my hands.

“Agatha’s parents are gone, they went to find her aunt that lives in Hampshire.” Penny says. “Agatha’s asleep.” 

“It’s my fault.” I shake my head. Then the doorbell rings. Penny looks at me, confused, and we both run downstairs. We must look a sight, her with baggy eyes and a worried grimace, wearing Micah’s massive christmas sweater and a pair of leggings. And me, shirtless, tired, and unsteady on my feet. Penny throws the door open, and Baz steps inside. Baz. 

“Penny, Snow, where’s Agatha?” He asks abruptly. “We have to get going- and put a shirt on, Snow, for fucks sakes.” I’ve never heard Baz swear like that; like a Normal. 

“Don’t you have to be invited in before you walk into someones-“

“No time for pleasantries, Penelope. We’re going to your house.” Baz interrupts. 

“Why?”

Baz is halfway up the stairs, heading for the first guest room. He opens the door, sees it’s empty, and moves on to the next one. I run after him and lead him to the one I slept in last night. There are some old clothes of Mr. Wellbeloves in here, and Baz yanks a shirt off the hanger and passes it to me. 

“Your magic?” I ask him as I slip it over my head. 

“Fine.”

“Your family?”

“Fine, you?”

“Ok.” He reaches out and tucks a curl back off my face, running his thumb gently down my cheek before snapping away as if it never happened. Baz storms down the hall, opening every door until he finds Agathas room. He marches inside and pulls the covers off her.

“Rise and shine, sunshine. Time to get going.” He says sarcastically. I stare at him in shock. Penny is giggling. Agatha groans, rolls over, gives Baz the finger, and pulls her pillow back over her head. 

“Agatha, we’re going to my place.” Penny says. 

“I’m staying here.”

“It’s about the Humdrum.” I say.

“I don’t give a fuck about the Humdrum.” Agatha groans. 

“I’ll buy you a puppy if you come.” Baz tells her, smirking.

“I don’t want your god-damn puppy. I just want a normal Christmas.” Agatha replies, and snatches the covers back from Baz. 

“Fine.” He says. “Stay here. We’ll be at Bunces.” And he walks out. Penny and I look at each other, shrug, and follow him to his car. I slide into the front seat and Penny buckles herself into the back. Baz drives like a maniac. I don’t know how he knows all the side-streets and short-cuts, but he does. Like he’s got a map of London etched into his brain. He drives ridiculously fast, too, but not jerky. It’s a smooth ride, but Penny screams practically the whole way. 

“Basilton you’re going to cause an accident!” 

“No I’m not. Other drivers are.” He insists. He right, the only dangerous thing about his driving is the speed, but other than that he’s very careful. Anyways, we make it to Penny’s in record time. Baz demands to see Penny’s dads office, so she leads us up the stairs to the attic. The whole room is maps. Maps spread and tacked to the floor, propped open against books, held down by coffee mugs and plates. One entire wall has been haphazardly painted into a blackboard, it’s covered in sentence fragments and numbers. 

“You come by it honestly, Penelope.” Baz smirks. He walks around the room until he finds what he’s looking for. “There.” He says. “Already labeled.” I step up behind him, resisting the urge to wrap my arms around his waist, burry my head in his shoulder and never move again. The map is of the South East with a red string around Hampshire. The flag on the pin says CHRISTMAS EVE 2015. 

“Last night, the Humdrum attacked Simon, and the biggest hole in Britain opened up.” Penny is nodding, looking confused. “What day did the dragon attack?” 

“It was after our Magic Words exam,” Penny recalls. “Middle of November. 

“Right…” Baz looks around the room. “There,” he says, pointing, “November fifteenth. The Isle of Skye.” Penny and I look at him curiously. 

“When did the holes first appear?” He asks. I start to say 1998, but Penny breaks in, snapping 

“Do we really have to do this by Socratic method?” 

Baz just frowns. 

Penny sighs, “Nobody knows, Basil. We didn’t start documenting them until 1998, but there were small ones all over the country by then-“

“How old are you, Snow? When were you born? Funny, I can’t ever seem to remember celebrating your birthday.”

I shrug, clearing my throat. “I don’t know- nobody does. Mitali just guessed when my mum left me on the doorstep.”

“But you’re probably eighteen, maybe nineteen?”

“They put 1997 on my papers.”

Baz nods. “Good- 1997, just before they discovered the holes. And when did you first realize you were a magician?” Baz is the first one to ever ask me these questions, Penny and I have never talked about it. I don’t like to talk about it. 

“Well, I mean, I always thought I was Normal until I went off-“

“August, 2008.” Penny says. “He just about blew the house up. My mum threw up. We thought he was Normal, because we didn’t know who his parents were, just that he’d been left on the doorstep with a note asking us to take him in.”

“Your family took in a Normal.” Baz looks at her blankly. 

“The note was specifically addressed to my mother!” Penny looks offended. “Just because you’re elitist and specist doesn’t mean everyone is!”

“I’m not elitist or specist.” Baz insists. “It’s just strange. Anyhow, 2008, you lit up the magickal atmosphere like a carpet bomb.” 

Penny and I stare at the map. “Here.” She says. “And in Newcastle…”

“All these tiny ones on the coast.” I point. 

“My dad says they metastasized that year.” Penny says.

“But, I wasn’t in any of those places!” I splutter. “I’ve never been to the sight of a dead spot until last night- we went over this last time!” 

“I know, Snow, so we know you don’t have to be there to make it happen.” Baz says, turning his bottle green eyes on me.

“Simon, when did you go off on Baz in the hospital?” Penny asks.

“Our fifth year.” Baz answers for me. “Spring, 2013.” 

“Here.” Penny points. “And a big one, here.” 

“I’m not the Humdrum.” I step away from them. Baz looks back at me, eyes catching mine. 

“I know.” He says, insistently. “But listen, the Humdrum told us- he said he doesn’t take the magic, that he’s ‘what’s left when you’re done’.” 

“How do you remember that? You were puking blood everywhere at that point!” I stare at him, and he shrugs, light glancing off his gold skin. Penny stares at me, horrified, and then looks at Baz. 

“Puking blood?” She whispers. 

“Not important.” Baz waves her question away. “Snow, the Humdrum doesn’t take magic, you do.” 

Penny gasps. “Simon, the first time you went off, you were eleven-“

“Probably wearing a shitty t-shirt and bouncing that bloody ball.” Baz finishes.

“Simon went off, and he sucked up so much magic-“ 

Baz nods, a mad glint in his eye, “-he tore a hole in the Magickal atmosphere. A Simon shaped hole.” 

“But why can’t the magickal atmosphere just accommodate me like everyone else?” I ask.

“If you clear cut a forest, the ecosystem doesn’t bounce back-“ Baz starts.

“-you’re too powerful. You use too much magic at once. The magickal atmosphere can’t take it!” Penny finishes, grinning at Baz. 

“Then why is the Humdrum attacking me? Why is he trying to kill me?” 

“He’s not trying to kill you.” Baz says. “Think about it, what do holes want?”

“What?”

“He’s not the Humdrum, he’s a hole. What do holes want?”

“To be filled?”

“Crowley, no.” Baz rolls his eyes. “To grow. Everything wants to grow.” 

“He’s trying to get Simon to go off. To use more magic.” Penny stares at Baz in awe. “To make a bigger hole.”

“Exactly.” 

“Baz, you’re a genius!” Penny throws her arms around him, and he spins her around like they’re in some cheesy movie. He puts her down abruptly, straightening his collar and grinning at me. I’m numb, shocked. Because for once, I’ve found the answer before they have. I have to die.

BAZ

Simon looks shocked, and scared. He mumbles something about going to get some air, with this weird look on his face. I know I’ve seen it before… I just can’t remember when… 

“You found his dad, didn’t you.” Penny says, closing her book. We’re sitting in the living room, waiting for Simon to get back so we can go pick up Agatha and head to Watford to find my mother. 

“Shit.” I know exactly where I’ve seen that look before. 

“What?”

“No time. Take my car, get Agatha, go to Watford.” I’m already reaching for my jacket, and I’m halfway out the door before Penny realizes I’m not coming with her.

“Where are you going? What about Simon?” 

“I’m going to get Simon!” I just hope I’m not too late. I cast  **_Hide and Go Seek_ ** , using Simons name and follow the light of my wand through the streets at full sprint. I find him on the roof of an apartment building in five minutes. At least he’s not trying to drown himself this time. Once was enough. 

“You said you didn’t have a fucking death wish!” I scream up at him. 

“Baz?” 

“You ass! You said!” The rain is pouring down my face now, getting in my eyes.

“I didn’t!” 

“You did!”

“No! I didn’t have a death wish, this is the only way!” 

“I’m coming up there.” I yell.

“NO!” But I’m already inside and running up the stairs. I find the door to the roof and burst out, searching the roof with my eyes for Snow. He’s standing, wild eyed and messy haired, almost directly across from me, standing on the barrier around the roofs edge. 

“Get lost Baz.”

“Simon, there is another way, there has to be.”

“No, Baz, if I die, so does the Humdrum.” I step towards him, feeling hot tears forming behind my eyes. He looks so broken. Also, so stubborn. As if he’s determined to die. Suddenly, I’m furious: how dare he even consider leaving me after everything that’s happened? How dare he convince me to live and then try to off himself? 

“What about Penny? Huh? What about Mr. and Mrs. Bunce loosing their son? What about all of your other siblings loosing their brother? What about Agatha’s worst nightmare coming true? What about me- what about my worst nightmare coming true? Why would you- so selfish- you can’t just leave us all behind, Snow.” Simon winces, looking shocked. 

I hope it hurt him. I hope he realizes the consequences. 

“But, Baz, I have to save the World of Mages- I have to do this, the Humdrum-“

“Come on.” I insist, interrupting him. “Come back with me.” His face is dripping with rain, and his tears don’t look real when they’re mixed with rain water like this. He stays silent, and after a minute, I make my decision. “Fine.” I say, stepping onto the ledge beside him, grabbing his hand and squeezing. “You said we were doomed ‘Romeo-and-Juliet style’.” He stares at me, eyes like wet periwinkles. “If you jump, so do I.” 

  
  


SIMON

“If you jump, so do I.” 

Baz is holding my hand in a vice grip, and I don’t doubt that he will jump if I do. If I die, he dies too. It’s not until he brushes a tear off my cheek that I realize I’m crying. 

“On three.” Baz says gently. I don’t know if he means we’re stepping away from the ledge or over it, I don’t know what I want him to mean. “One.” I don’t know if I want him to step away while I go over, or if I want us both to fall. “Two.” I don’t know if I want to step back with him. He has to live, though. I know that. “Three.” Baz moves forwards, and I move back. That’s when I realize that he’s still more broken than I am. He’s the one who has the least connection to the ledge. He’s the one who’ll fall. He’s the one with the mad glint in his eye and the suicidal smile. He’s crazy enough to jump. He’s crazy enough to leave me here, on the roof, when he does; just to spite me, just to make me pay for even suggesting I’d leave him behind.

“Oh Fuck.” I hiss, yanking him back as he dangles, weight forwards, toes slipping on the edge. He grins, as if he knew I’d never let him jump the whole time, as if he knew I’d change my mind. We’re back where we started, now, both on the ledge, holding hands. Only I’m not sure which one of us is holding the other back from the fall now. Baz’s grin falls as quickly as it appeared. He looks pleadingly at me, tugging my hand gently. 

“Please, Simon.” It’s the ‘Simon’ that breaks me. I collapse, folding into my skin like I’m trying to disappear. (I’m trying to disappear.) Baz catches me, pulling me away from the edge. I don’t know if I was aiming to go over or to stay on the rooftop when I let go of the tension in my muscles. (I was going over, I think, before Baz pulled me back.) (Baz is always pulling me back.) (I never thought that would be a good thing.) (Is it a good thing?) 

“Baz.” I can barely get the word out. I’m crying, quietly, but also choking on everything I’m trying to breath; air, rain, cedar, bergamot. 

“I know love.” He’s stroking my hair gently, holding me against him. The rain pours down, hammering on the roof, soaking us through. Londoners go about their lives, and none of them look up (people never look up.) at the two boys on the rooftop. 

“I…” I don’t know what I was going to say, but whatever it was, it gets choked off by another sob.

“You’re all right, Snow. Simon. You’re going to be fine.” Baz whispers reassuringly. 

“You were going to-“ 

“Hush, love.”

“Baz!” I snap my head up, staring at him. “Do you have a fucking death wish? I thought we were done with this!”

Baz starts, staring at me. “Why would you say something like that?”

“Because you were going to jump.” I hiss angrily. (Though I’m not angry enough to forget to appreciate the razor-sharp line of his jaw when we’re standing this close.) (Damn him.)

“Simon.” Baz sighs impatiently. “I never would have. I knew you’d catch me. I knew you wouldn’t let me.”

“How?” 

“I just did.” Baz smiles, pressing his lips to my forehead. “If you’re going to jump off a building, you don’t look like that.”

“Like what?” I ask, whine evident in my voice. 

“Like,” Baz pauses to kiss the three moles on my cheek before finishing his sentence. “like everything you have to live for,” he stops again, kissing below my ear. I growl at him, annoyed that he won’t just finish his sentence. “like everything you have to live for is still standing on the roof.” He smirks wickedly, before pressing his lips to my throat. Another growl is bubbling up there, but it comes out as more of a gasp when he kisses me. (Damn him.)

“Baaz.” I complain, but he ignores me. (Git.) 

“Simon.” I sigh, giving up on him. (It’s the Simon thing.) (I really ought to desensitize myself.) “Simon, love.” Baz murmurs against my jaw after a few minutes of kissing. “As much as I adore snogging you senseless on a rooftop in the pouring rain after you attempted suicide,” I can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or not. “this is awfully cliché, and awfully wet, and also, I’ve already sent Penny and Agatha to Watford to talk to my mother and I told them we’d meet them as soon as possible.” 

“Oh.” I can’t really concentrate on forming full sentences right now. 

“Come on.” Baz tugs my hand, and leads me down the stairs, onto the street and through London, weaving through side streets and back allies until we get back to Penny’s house. 

“How are we going to get to Watford from here?” I ask him, shaking the water out of my hair. 

“Working on it.” Baz says, brows furrowed; he’s concentrating hard on something. “Come here.”

“What?” 

“I need to borrow some magic.” Baz explains, holding out his hand. “I don’t know if this has ever been done on such a large scale, so pray it works.”

“What are you doing?” I take his hand, letting the magic flow into him. 

“ **_There’s No Place Like Home_ ** .” Baz exclaims, and Penny’s house disappears. 

*****

Watford swirls into place around us as if someone painted it there. Baz gapes at me. 

“That was amazing. I never imagined that would actually work.” He says. 

I start to say something, but that’s when the screaming starts. Baz and I look at each other, and take off across the lawn. It becomes obvious quite quickly where the screaming is coming from, I don’t even have to look at Baz to make sure he knows that I’m veering towards the White Chapel. He’s a faster runner than I am, but he keeps pace with me anyways. We pound up the stairs to the sound of screaming and spell casting. When we get to the hole in the ceiling, I wraps an arm around Baz’s waist, and call up my wings. We float gently through the hole in the ceiling and land on the floor to the most horrible scene I’ve ever encountered. 

“Fuck.” Baz says. 

“Double fuck.” I agree. There’s nothing else to say.

BAZ

David Hall. That fucking psychopath. He’s duelling my mother (winning, too.) and arguing about equality with her at the same time. It’s Penny who we heard, screaming. It takes me a moment to notice why, but then I see her. Agatha, with her blonde hair spread around her head like a halo, and a bloody gash through her torso. Snow is leaning over her, casting healing spell after healing spell, Penny slumped against him. I walk over, knowing I can’t help my mother, and gather Simon’s best friend up in my arms. She’s so short. She’s also crying. 

“What happened?” I ask her. 

“Are you hugging me?” She demands, sniffing, still holding onto me.

“Yes.” 

“Why?”

“Because you’re crying. And also, I need you to tell me what’s happening.”

“We got here about an hour ago. There was somebody in the Chapel, Agatha wanted to check it out, but I said we should go find Headmistress Pitch. We split up. Agatha came up here, and I met Headmistress Pitch as she came out of her office. She’d just noticed David- that’s his dad, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” 

“Baz…” She breaks off, sobbing. “He’s trying to get rid of the Humdrum! He said he needed Simon, to take his magic so he could get rid of it! But Simon wasn’t here, so he- he- tried to take Agatha’s instead but-“ she breaks down, crying harder than I ever imagined she’d be able to. Such a lot of emotion for such a small person. “He killed her, Baz!” 

“Penny! Is she-“ Simon shouts wildly, obviously just realizing that Agatha- oh, fuck, Agatha-

“Basil!” My mother cries as David pushes past her, taking her wand with him.

“Simon Snow!” David says, smiling happily, covered in blood.

“SHUT UP!” I yell, and everyone falls silent. “What the fuck are you doing?” 

“Simon.” He says. “I can stop him. I have control that you’ll never have, Simon. With your power, I can obliterate the Humdrum.”

“Mr. Hall, I think I’m causing the Humdrum.” Simon says, backing away slowly. 

“You’re not the Chosen One. You are the most powerful mage who ever lived, but you’re not him. Not the Greatest Mage. Not the Chosen one.” 

“I’m not?”

“No.” David smiles, putting a bloody hand on Simons shoulder. “Just a child.” 

“Leave him alone, David!” My mother cries, and David whirls on her. 

“ **_Cat Got Your Tongue_ ** .” He casts, and my mother falls silent. I growl, pulling out my wand, ready to spell this arsehole dead. Penny grabs my wrist. 

“Don’t.” She whispers. “Simon.” 

“Give it to me.” David says to Simon, grabbing his other shoulder. 

“It could hurt you.”

“NOW!” He bellows, and Simon closes his eyes. David clenches his fingers, and his body seizes, eyes lighting up. “I think this will work!” He cries. 

“It will work.” The Humdrum. There are too many faces, too many bodies and limbs, but somehow, the static and the breathing and the shouting go painfully silent.

“The Humdrum.” David breathes. “It’s you, Simon. My boy.”

“I’m not anybodies boy.” Both the Humdrum and Simon tell him. 

“You’re my shadow.” Simon says, staring at the Humdrum.

“More like an exit wound.” The Humdrum bounces his ball in his hand. “Or an exhaust trail. I’ve had loads of time to think about it.” 

“The Insidious Humdrum.” David breaths. 

“It’s a crap name.” The Humdrum says.

“I agree.” I put in, and although it really doesn’t matter, it’s worth it to see Penny and Simon both smile a little.

“Simon, give it to me, he’s right here!” David scrabbles at Simon, cutting him with his nails. I growl again, and Penny shakes her head warningly. 

“Go on, end it. End everything. All of the magic. All of it.” The Humdrum tosses his ball towards Simon, who pushes David off him to catch it. David screams,

“ **_Sticks and Stones_ ** !”

and Simons legs buckle out from beneath him, bending at weird angles. Simon snatches at the Humdrum, placing his hands on his shoulders. 

“I’m sorry all the good stuff happened after I left you.” He says, face tense with pain. I’m too angry to pay attention to what happens next, I take out my wand and cast. David flies towards the wall, and too late, I realize he isn’t going to hit it. He’s going to fly out the window and plummet to the ground. Is it far enough to break him? I don’t know. I don’t care. 


	6. Chapter 6

SIMON

It’s getting harder and harder to hold onto the Humdrum’s shoulders as he fades away. He puts his hands over mine, looking like a little thug with his flinty eyes and set jaw. He’s a hole. He’s what’s left when I’m done. Sometimes holes want to get bigger, but Baz –for once- was wrong: sometimes they just want to be filled. The Humdrum is disappearing, but the magic is still rushing out of me, pouring and sucking, pushing, as if it’s all bottled inside and someones taken the cork out. My fingertips tingle, I smell fire. Sparks chase themselves over my skin. 

This isn’t going off, I think, this is going out. 

  
  


BAZ

Simon is panting, lying on his stomach, staring up at the ceiling when my mother gets her voice back. She runs, immediately. I don’t know where she’s gone. To get help I suppose. Her words are still all jumbled. Penny rushes to Simon, casting ‘ **_Get Well Soon_ ** ’ on his legs, which heal in the next minute. I look out the window apprehensively, not sure if I want David to be dead or alive. There is a shattered body lying below me, cracked and broken on the cobblestone. I sigh, relieved. Simon is safe from this absolute madman. Now I just have to make sure he’s safe from himself. I turn, and Simon and Penny are both kneeling over Agatha. Penny is shaking. I make my way over, and wrap an arm around each of their shoulders. Penny hides her face in my shoulder, and Simon wraps his arms around my waist. He’s falling to pieces in my arms, shaking and crying. 

“It’s all right, love.” I whisper into his hair, quiet, so I don’t betray my own tears. “Simon, Simon, you’re ok.” 

“Oh.” Penny whispers. “Who’s going to tell her parents?”

Nobody answers her. 

*****

We’re asleep when my mother comes back. Covered in blood, holding onto each other. Simon is curled against me, still crying into my chest, and Penny is holding both mine and Agatha’s arms. She’s gone stiff, now (Agatha, not Penny.) I drag Simon and Penny away before they have a chance to see her. I’ve seen enough corpses today to last a lifetime. Simon is walking around like a zombie, and every time I close my eyes its Agathaonthefloor Davidonthecobbles and Simonontheroof. I can’t help but replace Davids body with Simons in my mind. That’s what he would have looked like, if I’d let him jump. A baby bird who couldn’t fly. A pile of bent bones and broken flesh. A carcass on the porcelain plate of death. Merlin. I’ve been trying to hold it together for the other two, leading them up to mine and Simon’s room, bringing tea, forcing them out of their bloodstained clothes. They look lost, both of them, and they keep reaching for me, or each other, or someone who is no longer there. Agatha. John fucking Keating,  _ Agatha _ . I’m passing Simon a mug of tea when it hits me, and my hand is shaking and the mug slips from my grasp to the ground. My knees buckle, and I fall to my hands and knees, glass from the mug cutting into my palms. Pull it together, Pitch. 

“Baz?” Simon asks, sniffing quietly, and sliding to the floor beside me. “Are you ok?” I lift my hands, watching a drop of blood well up and slide down my forearm. There’s a piece of glass stuck in my palm. I press my hands together, and more blood gushes from the cuts.

“No.” I whisper. “No, no no no no.” 

“Baz.”

“Baz.”

“Baz, please stop, you’re hurting yourself!”

“Basil, it’s all right, please- Stevie Nicks, Simon, stop crying and help him!” 

“Baz, love, please stop, please stop-“

“Basil!” 

“Please-“

I can’t see them anymore, the blood is rushing to my head, and I stand up, waver on my feet, and crash backwards, there’s a crack, and my eyelids shut. 

  
  


SIMON

I never thought I’d see Basilton Grimm-Pitch loose control like this again, but I’ve seen more of broken, messy Baz in the past few weeks than put-together Baz. We’re both so fucked-up. My magic is gone. Completely. I know it for sure. I don’t think Baz and Penny have noticed, but I can’t feel it anywhere, and the little flicker of flame that it made in my chest is gone. I haven’t had time to miss it yet. Penny has somehow pulled herself together enough to cast a healing spell over Baz. He’ll have another scar on his hand though, I think. My wings and tail are still here, knocking everything over, so I sit nice and still until Baz comes round. 

“All right, then?”

“Agatha.” He says, dropping his head into his hands. “And, fuck, Simon. I killed your dad.”

“This is weird.” Penny says, simply, and suddenly, we’re all laughing, hysterically, nearly sobbing with mirth. It’s too soon to tell if everything will be ok, but I think if we can still laugh, we must be all right. 

4 Months Later

BAZ

Falling asleep on Simon and Penny’s couch was not the original plan, nor was waking up there the next morning to the sound of Simon softly swearing at the kettle. I groan, roll over, and fall ungracefully off the couch and onto the floor. 

“Fuck.” 

Simon sniggers from the kitchen, and I scowl in his general direction. 

“What time is it?” I demand.

“Half past nine. Penny’s already left, if you want the shower.” I slump into the bathroom, stopping in Simons room to find a hoodie of mine he’d stolen (it’s far too big for him, the sleeves hang about two inches past the ends of his fingertips.) and a tee-shirt (his, but he’d never notice it was gone.) I feel much better after a hot shower, and dress in my jeans and Simons shirt, wandering out into the kitchen. (It smelt of scones, how predictable.) 

“Coffee?” I ask, making my way over to the kettle for hot water. “Have you boiled the water yet, Chosen One?”

“Shut up.” Simon grumbles. “Is that my shirt?”

“You noticed?” I squint at him, surprised.

“I always notice when you steal my clothes. I just pretend not to because I-“ He breaks off, looking embarrassed. 

“You what?” I smirk, taking a mug down from the shelf. 

“Nothing.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Lies, Snow-“

“Simon.” He interrupts.

“Snow. I know you were going to say something, you can’t just break off in the middle of a sentence like that.” I smirk down at him, enjoying the flush on his cheeks. His tail lashes (it does that when he’s embarrassed, or angry, or turned on, the latter of which I find most amusing.) I snatch it out of the air and pull it, gently, just enough to let him know I want him to come closer, to let me rest my chin on his head. He does (he always does) a bit reluctantly, but enough that I can get a hand under his ribcage and tickle him slightly, holding his shoulder with my other hand. Simon yelps and squirms out of my grasp, running away into the living room. I rush after him, face splitting into a smile. After a ridiculous chase full of shouting and laughter and launched couch cushions, I corner him, tackling him and knocking him into the couch. 

“If you wanted to cuddle, you could have just asked.” Simon says, brushing a piece of hair away from my face. I’m balanced over him, propped up on knees and elbows. 

“Snow, I don’t cuddle.” Cuddle is an awful word. It’s tastes like cotton and feather beds on your tongue, and it doesn’t roll, it just sits there like a mouthful of fluff. 

“Snuggle?” I shake my head. 

“Huggle.” 

“That’s not a word.” Simon shrugs. 

“It should be.” I grin, and Simon stares up at me, face relaxing, lips hanging open. Crowley I’m so in love with this boy. 

SIMON

Baz’s eyes are like pine trees today, cool and dark. His hair is loose (I like his hair loose, all waves and silk around his face) and a piece of it tickles my forehead. I reach up, pulling him down on top of me and kissing him soundly, holding the back of his neck with one hand and tracing the lines of his shoulder blades with the other. He sighs into my mouth. 

“You say you don’t cuddle.” I tease, lips against his jaw as he snuggles closer to me. 

“I don’t.” He gasps, trying to hold himself up with one elbow. Finally, he give up, flipping us over so I’m resting on top of him, head in the crook of his neck. I never expected the smell of cedar and bergamot to become something so comforting. Baz runs his long, elegant fingers through my hair languidly. 

“Do you have any plans today?” He murmurs. 

“I was going to meet Penny for lunch.” 

“Not anymore you’re not.” Baz orders, trailing his fingers down my ribcage. 

“I-“

“Simon.” Baz whines, and my heart melts into a puddle. He knows I can’t refuse him when he says my name like that. “Please?” He tips my chin up and kisses me hungrily. I suppose lunch isn’t really that big of deal. 

*****

Baz does let me get up eventually. I’m hungry, my stomach is rumbling. I’ve gained a lot of weight since leaving Watford, but I like to cook, so I’m not eating unhealthily at least. (If it were up to Baz we’d eat take-out or nothing at all. I’m careful to make sure that doesn’t happen) I make all our food now, good, healthy stuff as much as possible. I like to bake, too, but Penny made me promise only to make sweet pastries once a week at the most. (I’ve put on a fair bit of weight since I discovered sugar glazes.) Baz says I’m better now, all soft and cuddly. (Actually, it was more along the lines of: “you’re eating so many scones, you’re starting to look like one.” But he kissed and cuddled me after, so I know he likes it.) I feel better, though, like I’ll never be hungry like that again. Baz is lying on the couch, lips almost red with kissing, golden face flushed. I’m going to make some pancakes (who cares if it’s almost noon? Pancakes are for all hours of the day- and night.) but the mix is on the top shelf of the cupboard. I hate it when Baz cleans the house. Penny always leaves the top shelf practically empty (she can’t reach either) but Baz puts stuff up there just to bug me. 

“Baz!” I yell.

“What is it?” He stretches languidly on the couch.

“I- come here.” I hate this. I hate admitting I need his help. 

“Why?” He almost whines. 

“Just- I need- come here!” Baz huffs, starts to stand, and falls back on the couch with a grunt. 

“I don’t want to.” 

“Please, Bazzy?” Baz scowls and mimes vomiting. 

“Only if you promise never to call me ‘Bazzy’ ever again.” I stare at him with wide eyes. He slumps over, dropping a kiss on my forehead. “What do you need?”

“The pancake mix.” I mumble, and Baz bursts out laughing. “I’m short ok?” I snap angrily. Baz just continues to snicker, but he hands me the box anyways. 

“You making pancakes for lunch?”

“Pancakes are for any time of day.” I insist. Baz watches me while I make them, following my every movement with cool green eyes. I used to get angry when he did that to me at Watford; mostly just to prove that I wasn’t babying him when he was sick. I’m glad I don’t have to anymore; I like this better than fighting, too.

BAZ

Snow makes pancakes, then eats them. And then he’s still hungry, so he makes more. I have three (They’re big and round and fluffy, delicious, but so filling) and then I watch him, laughing a little at the expression of disappointment that crosses his face when he realizes they’re all gone. I start to wash up, (that’s always my job, seeing as how I never cook.) and it’s Simon’s turn to watch me. I can feel his gaze, warm on my back as I wash the plates. Simon is a bit of a paradox, really. His name is Snow, but he looks like sunshine. I think about what Agatha told me about not wanting to be his future, his prize after he beat all the bosses. She wanted to be his right now. I don’t mind being his future, really (and I’m sure I am. He was talking about where we were going to live after we finish school and whether or not we could have a cat just the other day, completely ignoring the fact that he’s allergic). I don’t mind being his future because I’ve already been his past, and (judging by the way he’s looking at me) I’m pretty sure I’m his right now, as well. He’s certainly my right now. He’s always been my right now. The centre of my universe, my paradoxical sun. Mine.

  
  
  


THE END


End file.
